Join me in the beginning of Forever
by caitiespace
Summary: When Claire washes up naked in the East River claiming someone tried to kill her, the cops think she's mad or attention seeking. But when Dr Henry Morgan hears her story, he knows she's altogether something different. When the bodies of women begin washing up along the East River, Dr Morgan knows he'll need Claire's help to find their killer. After all, she was his first victim.
1. Chapter 1

"There."

It was with a self-satisfied grin that Claire snipped the thread of the last suture. Her patient – a twenty-something year old with far too much make-up on – looked down at her handiwork, but didn't look as happy with the result as Claire did.

"Is it going to scar?" she demanded.

Claire sighed. Of course it was going to scar. It was a three inch gash on this woman's calf, incurred when she attempted to descend some industrial metal stairs leading from the nightclub in six-inch heels and failed. Claire may have managed to piece her leg back together neatly, but injuries like that always left a mark. She was a doctor, not a miracle worker, for God's sake!

"I'm sorry, but yes," Claire replied, trying to keep her most professional doctor voice on. "But scars do fade with time. In six months, it should be far less noticeable."

"Six months?" the woman exclaimed. "I'll never be able to wear a mini again!"

_I somehow doubt that_, Claire thought, but she kept that to herself. Instead, Claire mumbled something that was meant to be comforting, before ushering her patient out towards billing and a hopeful exit. She set about cleaning up her suture kit, when she heard someone chuckle behind her.

"Another happy customer, I see."

Claire turned around and spotted David, and felt her heart flutter slightly. David was another emergency registrar she worked with at Mercy General, and she had had a hopeless crush on him ever since she started her rotation here six months ago. He wasn't what she had generally considered her type. He had dark brown hair, so brown to be almost black, slightly too long to be considered business-like. His eyes were just as dark, hidden behind hipster-style glasses. He had a slightly hooked nose, which she normally wouldn't find attractive, but somehow it matched the slightly cheeky lilt to his smile. All these features somehow managed to encapsulate his personality, and it was that that Claire found herself infatuated with. David was a jokester, but he had heart. He always exuded a sense of warmth, and that was something that was desperately needed when working in an emergency department in New York City.

Claire smiled.

"Another day, another life saved," she replied. "How's your evening been?"

"Oh, you know. Just your usual Saturday night."

David came and leaned against the barouche beside her.

"Usual collection of drunks and assault victims. As satisfying as ever."

Claire laughed, but she wasn't sure why. David had is arms crossed across his chest, and he looked at her sideways under his curls. She watched that slightly crooked smile creep across his lips again.

"Pretty sure it's home time," he said, pushing himself upright. "A couple of the guys and I are going to go out for a drink, if you'd like to come."

"Can't," Claire said, before she thought about what she was saying. "I've got work tomorrow."

"That's a shame," David replied. "Did you want me to walk you to the subway or something?"

_YES!_ Claire thought, her heart thumping in her chest, but for some reason she replied with, "Oh, it's not that far. You go have fun."

David sighed.

"If you're sure…"

David looked slightly deflated as he walked out of the cubicle. He stopped, clutching the edge of the curtain.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" he asked.

Claire's heart fluttered again. It felt like a phone vibrating in her chest. No – wait. It was. Her mobile was in her scrubs top pocket, and it was ringing. She pulled it out, and saw it was her mum ringing.

"Yes, of course," she said. "…I'm sorry, but I've got to get this. Hi, mum…"

David waved at her, and left.

It wasn't much later that Claire found herself leaving Mercy General. The faint sound of an ambulance siren echoed off in the distance, but it was no longer her problem. She flipped up the collar of her coat, to protect the back of her neck from the cold night air and walked down the street towards the subway stop. She felt like an idiot.

David had asked her out, and she had said no! Yes, it had been out with colleagues, but it was still _out_. There was subtext there. But no, she had said she couldn't _cause she was working tomorrow_! She was such an idiot! Six months, she had been hoping that he would ask her out, and the one time he does, she says no.

She had a feeling she was going to be feeling stupid for a while.

Just then, someone grabbed her from behind and pressed something cold to her throat.

"Make a noise and you're dead."

Claire felt herself freeze. In the seconds that passed, she realised that someone was holding a knife to her throat. She knew that if he used it, she wouldn't be around long enough to worry if the cut would leave a scar.

"My wallet," she said. "It's in my handbag. Take the whole thing. Just don't hurt me."

He chuckled.

"I won't hurt you if you do what I want. But I don't want your wallet."

A cold shiver ran down Claire's spine. This wasn't a mugging. And if it wasn't a mugging, there were only a couple other options as to what the man wanted, and neither of those were good.

"Back up slowly now," he said.

She felt a slight pressure against her throat, as her attacker took a step backwards. Claire had no choice but to follow. Claire looked desperately up the street, willing for someone to walk by. If someone walked by, he'd have to let her go. Why wasn't there anyone here?

Claire and her attacker backed up slowly, step by step, until the street finally faded from view. Her hopes of rescue faded just as rapidly as her view of the street had. They were in an alley – it could have been any, in New York. Her attacker spun her around to face a car, the ovular Ford badge visible from this distance.

"Back seat. Now."

Her attacker relaxed his arm and removed the knife from her throat. He waited for Claire to do as she was told. She hesitated, as she contemplated running. She knew if she got into the back of his car it was over. If she ran now and screamed her guts out, maybe someone would hear and come to her rescue. But this was New York. Claire hadn't lived here long, but she knew the stories of how it was more effective to call 'Fire' than 'Rape'. Even if someone heard her, there was no guarantee they would help. And then if he caught her again, it would only be worse.

So she did as she was told, and sat down on the back seat, careful to make sure her legs were hanging out of the car. She looked up at her attacker, and for the first time saw his face. She didn't know exactly what she was expecting, but she was still surprised by his appearance. He just looked like a normal guy. Maybe in his early forties, with close cropped hair and wearing a button up shirt. On any other day, she would have walked past him on the street without a second thought.

"Take off your pants," he said.

He swallowed hard.

"Bit difficult, from in here," she said.

He sighed.

"Fine," he said. "Stand up."

Claire did as she was told, but that was the last time she'd be doing that. If she was going to act, she'd have to act now.

Claire made a show of standing and undoing the top button of her jeans. She used this time to scope out her escape route, as her attacker was distracted by her button theatrics. They weren't that far down the alley. Maybe eight or ten feet. It wouldn't be that hard to sprint past her attacker and back where she came. She'd just have to run and keep running. Claire thought back to all the hours she'd spent in the gym on the treadmill. All that training would finally come in handy.

But first she had to get past him.

Claire's hands released the button on her jeans. Her zip remained tightly fastened. She allowed her hands to drop by her side.

"You do it," she said, trying her best to sound alluring.

Her attacker looked confused for a moment, so she smiled at him. She was surprised when he smiled back. He tucked his knife into his back pocket, and took a step forward to help her out of her jeans.

She kneed him in the groin.

Her attacker groaned, but crumpled to the ground, nonetheless. Claire took this opportunity to escape. She tried to duck around him, but he grabbed her ankle. She fell to join him on the ground. Claire struggled against his grip, and could feel the grit and detritus dig into her skin, but he wouldn't let her go. He pulled himself on top of her, pinning her to the ground. She tried hitting him, but it didn't make a difference. His hands clasped around her throat and squeezed. Claire dug at his hands, trying to pry them from her throat as she struggled for air. Her legs kicked and flailed as she tried to buck him off, but it was to no avail. She gasped and gasped again, but she couldn't get any air. Darkness started to creep into her vision. The last thing Claire would see was her attacker's cold, grey eyes, staring at her with a fevered mania while he forced her to leave this world.

It took a few moments after she stopped struggling for Claire's attacker to realise that she wasn't going to anymore. He allowed his hands to relax, his fingers protesting as he did so. They almost creaked as they finally released Claire's neck. The woman he had cornered lay motionless under him, her face a dark red that was already starting to fade.

He reached out to take her pulse. There was none.

Shit. He killed her.

This realisation struck him hard. That hadn't been his intention, when he decided to grab her off the street. She was just meant to do what he said, and he would have let her go, like he had all the others. She wasn't meant to fight. She wasn't meant to end up dead. She was useless to him now.

And it was worse. Murder was considered a far more serious crime than rape was. People would expend a lot more effort looking for him now there was a body left behind.

He couldn't leave her here. Someone would find her. Besides, they had fought. There would be evidence on her body. Evidence that could lead the police back to him.

The river. The river would wash away his crimes. No DNA meant no way to trace back to him. Besides, if he was lucky, she would never be found. The river would be his salvation.

He bundled her body into the boot of his car, before getting in and driving away. He realised as he drove that he'd have to dump his car later. Have it declared stolen, so no one would trace it back to him. He'd probably have to burn it, too, just in case there was any forensics left.

He drove down to the pier. At this time of night, he was the only one there. He pulled on a baseball cap, before getting out of the car. He opened the boot, to find the woman – still motionless – inside. If it weren't for the rubbish caught up in her brown hair, or the muddy stains on her back and legs, she'd just look like she was sleeping. He hoisted her out of the car, before dragging her to the edge of the pier, and tossing her into the river.

In that moment, as he stood there, watching the body of the woman he killed float away, it all just felt so easy.

The river would wash away his sins.

The river would wash away his sins.

Claire gasped as she breached the surface.

It took her a moment to realise where she was. That she was in the water and drowning, rather than suffocating. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, trying to coordinate her arms and legs so she was now swimming and keeping her head above water.

What the Hell was she doing here?

The events of that evening flashed through her head. Leaving work. The man with the knife. Him choking her and her vision going dark. But then what? It may have come in flashes, but it all added up to one thing. She should be dead.

So why was she swimming in the river in the dark?

Claire wasn't that far from the riverfront. The lights from the streetlamps lining its length shone strongly in the darkness. Even if she didn't know how she got here, she knew she had to get herself out. Claire had always been a strong swimmer, so it didn't take her long to propel herself back towards land and safety. It wasn't until she reached the rocks that lines the esplanade that she realised she had no idea where she was. She hadn't lived in New York that long, and she didn't really leave her neighbourhood that much. She could see the Williamsburg Bridge off in the distance, and she had seemed to have beached herself by a running path, but beyond that was lost.

More to the point, she couldn't see a way up to that running path.

"Hello?" she called. Her voice wasn't nearly as raspy as she thought it should have been, given that she had been nearly choked to death. "Anyone? Help!"

She almost cried when no one replied.

"Please? Someone? Help me, please!"

"What are you doing down there?"

A fat, middle aged man looked over the railing, down where Claire clung to the rocky shore.

"Oh, thank God," she said. "Please, help me."

"Gimme a sec. I'll call the cops," he said.

He was only on his phone for a couple of moments, before he hung up.

"They're on their way."

"Thank you," she said, her relief heavy in her voice.

"No problem," he said. "…So… Hope you don't mind me asking… But why are you naked?"


	2. Chapter 2

To say that Luke was having a bad day would be an understatement.

Luke had never been a fan of working sex crimes. The hours were long, the crimes depraved, and the emotional burden of working with the victims often followed him home at the end of the night, where his wife would complain because he didn't seem interested enough in her own, more mundane problems. But being a cop had always been a calling to Luke, and it was as a detective of the Special Victims Unit that he had found that he belonged. He may have hated his daily glimpse into just how disgusting the human race could be, but at the same time, he could never see himself doing anything else.

Which is why he was so surprised to find that he was so disappointed not to be leaving it.

The opportunity arose a couple months ago to sit the sergeants exam, and Luke had taken it. He hadn't expected to pass – Hell, he'd only been a detective for two years at this point – but he found himself genuinely gutted when the results came back this morning to say that he had failed.

Luke had rose out the day, willing to wait until he got home to the wife to commiserate, but that was not to be. When he got home, Vicky wanted to have a talk – _The_ Talk – and that had been even worse than his exam results were.

Luke didn't really want to think about it, especially not when he was about to see another victim, but the suitcase in the backseat was an unpleasant reminder.

Luke tried to clear his head while he walked down the corridor to the hospital. The victim he was here to see deserved his full attention. He couldn't be distracted by all his personal shit. It wasn't fair to her.

Luke had actually felt relieved when he received the call at 3am saying that a woman had been pulled out of the East River. Even better - she wasn't dead. She was, however, naked, and was claiming that someone attacked her and thrown her in the river.

Luke badged the nurse at the desk.

"Detective McCoy, NYPD. I'm here to see Claire Gage."

The nurse directed him down the corridor, to room 409. He walked in to find a woman sitting in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. She was wearing a hospital gown – evidently the rumour about her nudity was true – but apart from that, Luke couldn't spot any other signs of assault.

She looked up when he walked in.

"Hi," he said, putting on his best professional-but-approachable voice. "I'm Detective McCoy from the NYPD. I'm here to help."

"Hi," she replied. "I'm Claire."

_Not a New Yorker_, he thought. Accent wasn't right.

Luke came over and sat in the seat next to the bed, careful not to place himself too close, but not too far away, either. Since starting work with sex crimes, Luke realised that the first meeting was the most important. These women – and men – had been through a trauma, and they were just as likely to shut down as to talk to you, if you didn't approach them the right way. Most of these people had had their personal space violated in the worst way possible. You didn't enter it again unless invited.

"Hi, Claire," he said, and smiled. Not too big a smile, but enough to be comforting. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Luke watched as her grip on her arms tightened for a moment, before relaxing.

"I was walking to the subway after work…"

Her voice trailed off. Not unusual. People generally don't like talking about the awful things that happened to them. Luke tried to give her a gentle nudge.

"And what time was that?"

"Just after midnight," she replied.

"Where do you work?" he asked.

"Mercy General."

"Nurse?"

"Doctor."

Claire looked at him again and smiled. This close, Luke noticed that her eyes were a startling shade of blue. It was hard to look away from.

"Sorry." Luke rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just you don't look old enough to be a doctor."

"Don't be," she said. "I'm older than I look. I'm twenty-eight."

Luke nodded, and jotted something down on his notepad.

"So back to last night – you were leaving work, and what happened?"

The smile that had come to Dr Gage's face disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Someone grabbed me," she said flatly. "They pressed a knife to my throat, and pulled me into an alleyway."

She raised a hand almost subconsciously to her neck, before letting it fall.

"Then what happened?" Luke pressed.

"He told me to get into the car and take my pants off," she said.

"He had a car waiting?" he asked.

Claire nodded.

"What type of car?"

"I don't know… A Ford, I think," she said. "I'm not that great with cars."

"That's okay," Luke said. "Was it a 4WD, a sedan, a coupe…"

"Not a 4WD," she said. "You know… just a normal car. I only know it was a Ford because I saw the badge."

"Did you catch a licence plate?" he asked.

She shook her head again.

"I must have seen it," she said. "I just can't remember. Everything just happened so fast."

"That's okay," Luke said, putting on his concerned voice again. "It's hard to think straight in stressful situations. Don't worry – you're doing great."

She forced a smile – albeit an unconvincing one – to her face.

"Thanks."

"Do you remember what colour the car was?" he asked.

"Beige."

"And did you get in the car?" he asked.

"Not for long," she said.

"Did he take you somewhere…"

"No," she interrupted. "I just said I couldn't take my pants off in the car. I was wearing jeans, so he believed me."

"What else were you wearing?" he asked.

"Just a t-shirt and jacket. I get changed into scrubs at work," she explained.

"What colour t-shirt?" he asked.

"I don't know… I think it was my red Converse shirt and my tan trench coat. I just grabbed whatever was close to hand that morning."

"Shoes?"

"Sneakers. Pink Nikes."

Luke couldn't help but grin slightly at the thought of hot pink Nikes.

"So you got out of the car, then what happened?"

"I kneed him in the groin," she said almost proudly. "But… he grabbed me. I tried to get away, but he pinned me to the ground. He choked me until I lost consciousness, and I woke up in the river."

Luke looked at Claire again. Apart from the fact that her hair had obviously been wet at some point, Luke couldn't spot any other evidence of a struggle. There were no cuts or bruises on her arms, and her neck didn't have a single mark on it. Luke had met strangling victims before, and invariably they had some kind of mark left behind from the type of attack she was describing. He would check with her doctors later, but they wouldn't find any signs of assault, either.

"So you have no idea how you ended up in the river?" he asked.

She shook her head again.

"Last thing I remember was his hands being around my throat, and I couldn't breathe."

She rubbed her throat again and sighed.

"What did your attacker look like, Claire?" he asked.

"Mid-forties. Short hair – blonde, I think. Maybe with some grey. Caucasian. Average weight and height," she supplied.

_So basically, the most non-descript person you can imagine_, Luke thought, but kept it to himself.

"Had you ever seen him before last night?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Did he rape you, Claire?" he asked.

"No," she replied, almost too quickly. "My doctor said he didn't."

He watched as her brows furrowed slightly, almost like she was confused by something. If she was, she wasn't the only one. The more Luke pieced together her version of events, the less plausible they seemed. Especially given her lack of bruising.

"How do you think you ended up in the river, Claire?" Luke asked, coming back to this one point. It was the only concrete point he had to work with.

"I don't remember," she said. "I told you – I lost consciousness. He must have thought I was dead and dumped me there."

"And stripped you naked first?"

Luke didn't mean to sound as incredulous as he did. But evidently Claire noticed, and glared at him as a result. A cold shiver ran between Luke's shoulders when their eyes met, and he felt his back straighten. Her eyes were just so disconcerting.

"Don't you believe me?" she asked.

"Claire," he said, leaning towards her to seem more approachable. "I'm not saying that. I'm just trying to find out what happened."

"I told you what happened," she insisted.

"I know," he replied. "But you've been through a traumatic event. Sometimes we get things confused."

"What are you finding confusing?" she demanded.

"Nothing. I'm just trying to get a timeline," he insisted. "You're saying that a man grabbed you off the street, dragged you into an alley where he had a car waiting and planned to rape you, but instead he choked you to near-death, stripped you naked and dumped you in the East River."

"Because that's what happened," she insisted.

"And I believe you," he said, because it was his job to say so. "So let's start from the beginning, so I can have all the details I need to find him. What time did you leave work?"

Over the coming days, Detective Luke McCoy would interview Claire three more times. He would examine the alleyway she claimed to have been attacked in, and review the surveillance camera images from the area and from the river front near where she washed up. No evidence would be found to support her claims. Luke's captain would decide that Dr Gage was just some crackpot looking for attention, and the investigation would end. Luke would always have the nagging suspicion that there was more to the blue-eyed doctor than met the eye. But cases go cold, and life goes on, and life for Detective Luke McCoy was no different.

Life may have gone on for Detective McCoy, but it hadn't for the young woman that was now lying on Dr Henry Morgan's slab.

25-30 years old, brown hair and still clothed in the damp running gear that she had been pulled out of the river in.

Henry had gotten used to being the ME on scene when a body was found, but he had been busy that morning in court with a deposition. Lucas had gone instead. Henry deeply regretted missing seeing the scene with his clear eyes, honed from centuries of experience. Often it was the smallest of clues that told the largest story.

Like the engagement ring on this woman's left hand – a rather nice, though not overly large, diamond solitaire. It spoke of wealth, but not in the extreme. She or her partner were comfortable, but not amongst the city's elite. There was no corresponding indentation of the ring finger, so it was obvious that the engagement was a recent development. Given that her ring was there at all suggested that this was probably not a robbery gone wrong.

Her jogging gear and shoes were brand name – more evidence of a comfortable income – and her clothes were slightly loose – evidence of recent weight loss, consistent with her starting to prepare for nuptials that would never come.

Even from where he stood, Henry could see the dark marks ringing her neck – one on either side, in the branching shape of hands. When he opened her eyes, there were the corresponding petechiae. Even without officially starting the autopsy, the cause of death was obvious. This poor girl had been strangled to death.

"So, doc. What do you think?" Lucas asked, snapping a blue glove as he walked towards the table. "I'm thinking strangulation.

He mimed the action with his hands, much to Henry's distaste. A carefully placed look of disapproval caused him to cease.

"That much is obvious, Lucas. The question is why." He stood. "And by whom? Was this an act of passion, by someone known to the victim? Or the violent action of a random stranger? You should know by now, Lucas, that the job of the ME is not just to determine the cause of death, but to elucidate the motive behind it, too."

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

"Ah, Detective Martinez."

Henry stood to face his partner and Hanson. Hanson, like always, had his blank show-no-emotion-in-the-morgue face on, a sure sign that he was far more sensitive than his New Yorkness would allow him to admit.

Jo walked over to the table.

"We've identified the victim as Juliet Connor. Her fiancé reported her missing last night. She went out for an afternoon jog and never came back," she supplied.

"I guess that would explain the running gear," Henry concurred. "I'm sorry, Detective, but as you can see, I haven't had the chance to begin the autopsy yet. My preliminary finding, though, is that Miss Connor was strangled to death. From the size of the hand marks, I'd say by a male perpetrator."

He reached across and picked up one of the victim's hands.

"Evidence of damage to her fingernails shows that she struggled against her attacker. There is no obvious collection of skin of material under the nails, though," he continued.

He put her hand back on the slab, and looked at her again. He noted that her jacket had been tucked into her pants – not a common style for the twenty-something year-old New Yorker.

"Detective Hanson, if you would mind turning around," Henry asked. "I need to expose Miss Connor."

"Seriously, doc?" he asked. "Not like I ain't seen a dead body before."

Henry looked up at Hanson.

"That you may have done, Detective, but this body was once a young woman. I'd expect that she'd like to retain some dignity, even in death. Even if only so small a measure as not to have every man that comes across watching as she's stripped naked."

Hanson didn't reply, but did as he was told and turned to face the wall.

Henry didn't have to undress the victim much to see what he had expected. Dark bruises marked her legs.

"It appears that Miss Connor was raped," Henry said sadly. "There is evidence of bruising to her thighs, along with corresponding evidence of penetration. I will have to run a rape kit, but it looks like our perpetrator wore a condom. I will see what I can do."

Detective Hanson turned around.

"Did the rape happen before or after he strangled her, Henry?" Jo asked.

"After," he replied. "See the bruising to her legs? If the rape occurred post-mortem, she would not have bruised. I'm sorry to say, but Miss Connor suffered through her attack."

"You know, a buddy of mine over at sex crimes had a similar case not that long ago," Hanson said. "Some girl grabbed off the street, strangled and thrown in the river. Probably a different guy, though, cause his girl got dumped in the river naked. And she lived, so there's that, too."

Henry's head sprung up to look at Hanson.

"She what?"

It was an unexpectedly blunt response from Henry, but Hanson didn't give it much thought.

"Yeah, just like you, Doc. Found swimming in the river completely butt naked. She came out saying some crazy story about some guy attempting to rape her and then choking her til she passed out. Supposedly there wasn't a single bruise on her. My mate said that his Captain thinks she's a nutball, but he thinks there's something more to it," he explained. "Maybe this is the same guy escalating?"

"What is your friend's name, Detective?" Henry asked, trying not to let on how vital he thought the information was.

"Luke McCoy," he said. "So what do you think, Doc? Do you think we should give him a ring?"


	3. Chapter 3

Hanson took Henry and Jo to meet his friend at a place Henry hadn't expected – a hospital. He hopped out of Jo's car and looked up at the entrance of Mercy General, and wondered what exactly they were doing here. Hanson got out of the car and walked up the steps to greet a man standing at the enterance. This must have been Detective McCoy.

"Hey, Mike," the man said, slapping Hanson on the back as he gave him a manly hug. "Glad you found the place alright."

"Couldn't have picked a much harder place to park, mate," he said.

"Yeah, but it's not like I picked it, though."

He looked around Hanson to where Henry and Jo were standing.

"Luke, I'd like to introduce you to my partner, Jo Martinez. This is Doc… I mean, Doctor Henry Morgan. He's our ME."

"Luke McCoy, SVU," he said, reaching out to shake Jo's hand. He very deliberately gave her a warm smile, before letting go of her hand and reaching for Henry's. "I'm surprised to see an ME out of their fridge."

"Detective Martinez and I have an unconventional relationship," Henry explained. "I often like to accompany her on her investigations, to help with evidence collection."

"Wish my MEs were that thorough," he said. "So you think my vic is involved with your murder?"

"That's what we're here to find out," Jo said. "Mike said you thought she was genuine. There were enough similarities that it's worth a look."

"It's not up to me to say who's genuine or not," he said. "Captain said there was no evidence, so drop it. That's what I did."

Jo grimaced.

"It is kind of your job, Detective," she said. There was more than a hint of irritation in her voice.

"Hey, Detective Martinez," he said defensively. "Do you know how many rapes happen in New York City each year? We're snowed under enough without wasting too much time on those who call wolf. You'd be surprised how many people claim something happened when it didn't, for attention or payback or something."

"And do you think this woman is one of those people?" she asked.

"Well, no," he admitted. "She seemed pretty damn serious about the whole thing. I'm likely to believe her."

"And you just dropped the case?" she asked.

"Hey, there was no evidence," he said. "No cameras. No witnesses. No DNA. Hell, she didn't even have any bruises. There was nothing to chase."

"I'm sure she feels all the better for it," she said. "Now, where do we find her?"

"Right in here," he said, shoving a thumb in the direction of the hospital entrance.

"Is she a patient?" Jo asked.

Luke shook his head.

"No. A doctor."

It had taken Claire a while before she had felt comfortable going back to work.

After events like what she had been through, it's not unreasonable that it had taken some time. Not only had she been assaulted, but the ensuing investigation – or lack-thereof – had taken its toll. She'd been through hours upon hours of interviews, invasive examinations, and eventually accusations of making the whole thing up.

It seemed the lack of physical evidence was a sticking point. The longer that their evidence basket remained empty, the more the police thought she had invented the whole thing. It had been thirty days since her assault now, and she hadn't heard from the police in the last ten, when they had called her up to let her know her investigation was no longer a priority. If any evidence turned up, they had promised they would reopen it.

They hadn't even waited a month to give up on her.

Claire had no idea why there was no physical evidence of her assault. She had fought and fought hard. Surely, there must have been some skin or grit caught under her nails. Surely, she should have had a wreath of bruising around her neck, where he had held her throat so tight she had passed out. Surely, there must have been some camera somewhere that had caught either the assault, or her being dumped in the river. But sadly, there was nothing on all fronts. By now, even she was beginning to think she had imagined the whole thing.

When Detective McCoy had rung her ten days ago and told her they weren't going to look into her case any longer, it felt like a message to Claire that she should move on with her life, too. So she had gone back to work, but things had not gone back to the way they were before. Her colleagues treated her differently, having heard stories about what happened to her. Even David had lost his carefree edge around her. He had not asked her out again, since that night. Maybe he didn't think she was ready to. Or maybe he was just not attracted to the damaged types.

So Claire had thrown herself back into her work, hoping that patching up and sick and injured of New York would distract her from her own life at the moment. It was a sad thing that it hadn't worked.

Claire was surprised when she spotted Detective McCoy over at triage that morning. She was even more surprised when she saw that he had company. Two men and a woman, one of the men far more well-dressed than she was used to New York detectives being.

"Hi, Claire. It's so good to see you again," Luke said, extending his hand towards Claire when he walked over.

She didn't take it.

"Claire, I'd like you to meet my colleagues, Detectives Hanson and Martinez, and their medical examiner, Doctor Henry Morgan."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking over his guests briefly before meeting Luke's eyes again. "I thought you said you weren't investigating my case anymore?"

"There's been a development," he said. "I'll let my colleagues explain."

She turned to give them her full attention, glad to be given a reason to give Luke the cold shoulder. She hadn't forgiven him for abandoning her and her case like he had. She was surprised to note how closely the posh one – Doctor Morgan – was looking at her.

"Doctor Gage," the woman said, extending her hand. "I'm Jo Martinez. I'm a homicide detective."

Claire took her hand this time, not wanting to offend her.

"Homicide?" she asked.

"My partner and I are currently investigating a case of a strangled woman that was found in the East River," she explained. "We noticed the parallels with your case, and wanted to see if they were related."

"I'm not sure I can help much," Claire said. "I mean, my story wasn't even enough to get my own assault investigated properly."

She gave Luke a very deliberate look. He had the sense to look away.

"I'm sorry that happened, Doctor Gage," Jo said. "Nobody is perfect. Not even New York detectives. We can only try to do better in the future."

Claire wanted to be bad with Jo, just like she had been angry with everyone since her accident. But Jo seemed genuine when she expressed her regret at how Claire's case had been handled. It was hard to be mad with her, when Claire knew it wasn't her fault.

"So what can I do to help?" she asked, unfolding her arms.

"We were wondering if you could go through what happened with us," she said. "Tell us what happened to you."

"Again?" she asked. "Didn't you write it all down after the million times we went through it?" she asked Luke.

"We just want to get a little more details on the specifics," Jo clarified. "Detective McCoy said you got a look at your attacker?"

Claire nodded.

"What did he look like?" she asked.

Claire shrugged.

"Just an average guy," she said. "You know, mid-forties. Short hair. Kind of plump but hardly fat."

"Any distinguishing features?" she asked. "A tattoo, or a scar or something."

Claire shook her head.

"Not that I saw. I'm sorry. I wasn't paying that close attention. I was just trying to find a way out."

"And how did you find a way out?"

This was the other detective – Hanson – asking.

"I didn't," she said. "If you read my file, then you'd know I got dumped in the river."

"But how?" he continued. "Like, I know you said you was strangled, but in all that time you didn't wake up once before getting dumped in the river?"

"No. I didn't," she said. "Honestly, the last thing I remember was lying in the alley, thinking I was going to die. I'm actually surprised I did wake up at all."

"And you didn't get any bruises at all?" he asked. "Not even a couple of days later, or something?"

"Trust me, detective. I'm just as confused about the whole thing as you are," she said.

"I just don't see how you could have gone through something like that and not got a single scratch or bruise," he said. The way he said it, Claire could see he meant it like an apology, but it didn't feel like one. "I mean, if you thought you was so near to death and all. If you didn't bruise, then you couldn't have been that badly hurt and all, and you should have woken up at some point before reaching the river. Even if you passed out again later."

Claire folded her arms across her chest.

"You don't believe me either," she said.

"We're not saying that," Jo said. "We're just trying to find out what happened."

Claire shook her head.

"I don't know why I bother…"

Claire had had enough. She left. She took a deep breath in as she walked down the corridor, trying to settle the swell of emotions within her. Even after everything that happened, it was the fact that no one believed her that hurt the worst. She didn't realise she'd put so much hope in finding someone who believed her, not until these homicide detectives arrived and shattered that hope once again. She leant against a wall and shut her eyes, rubbing them with a tired hand as she willed herself not to cry.

"Doctor Gage."

Claire opened her eyes, to find their ME, Doctor Morgan standing beside her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

He had a kind voice – so much softer than the New Yorkers she had spent her days surrounded by since moving here. Very British. The concern appeared genuine in his eyes.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Just tired."

"I remember the feeling," he said. "It wasn't so long ago that I was working in a hospital. The hours were terrible."

"Oh, really? Where did you work?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment, before he replied, "Guam."

Well, that was odd. So odd it startled a short giggle from Claire.

"I am sorry about Detective Hanson," he continued. "He's not used to dealing with living victims. He hasn't developed the decorum to talk to them."

"How about you?" Claire asked. "You work with dead bodies all day, but you seem nice enough."

Doctor Morgan smiled.

"Ah, yes, but it's not in my manner to be so brash," he explained. "But I do know Detective Hanson did not mean to be so harsh. He was just trying to work out what happened to you."

"He doesn't believe me," she said flatly.

"I believe you," Henry replied.

Claire's brow furrowed.

"Even though there's no witnesses and no evidence?" she asked. "Even though by all logic, there should be?"

"As much as I try to live my life by logic, I find that logic sometimes does not want to live its life with me," he replied. "You'd be surprised by the things that I've experienced in my life that defy logic."

_What an odd thing to say,_ Claire thought. But somehow, his words had made her feel better.

"Thank you, Doctor Morgan…"

"…Please. Henry," he interrupted.

"Thank you, Henry," she said. "You have no idea how much it means to have someone in my corner."

"Doctor Gage…"

"…Claire."

"Claire." Henry smiled. "I would dare say that you have more than one person in your corner. I would not give up on the NYPD just yet."

"You seem to have more trust in them than I do," she said.

"I think I'm right to do so," he said. "Trust me, Claire. I promise you that we'll find the man who did this to you."

"I'd think you'd be more interested in finding the man who murdered your victim," she said.

"I think we're clever enough to do both," he winked. "Besides, their answers may be one and the same. Til next time, Doctor Gage."

And with that, he left.


	4. Chapter 4

"Abraham! Abraham, where are you?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here. I'm here," Abraham called, walking down the stairs into the antique shop he shared with Henry. "You know, you'd think that after seventy years, you'd have grown out of the 'Dad is looking for you' voice."

"Abraham," Henry chided.

"Yes, Pops?" he asked.

Henry shook his head.

"Don't be like that. I have something important to talk about with you."

"I'm all ears," Abraham said, taking a seat at his desk.

Henry stopped his pacing and sighed. He straightened his back and laced his fingers behind him.

"I think I may have met another immortal today."

"What?" Abraham said, straightening in his chair. "Another immortal? Like Adam?"

"No, Abe. Very much not like Adam," he said. "I think I've discovered a new one, fresh from their first reawakening."

Abraham seemed to visibly relax.

"What makes you think they're an immortal?" he asked.

"Because they should be dead, but they are not," Henry explained. "That, and because they emerged unharmed and naked from the river, completely unaware as to how they got there."

"It does sound a little suspicious," Abraham conceded. "But are you sure? I mean, surely there must be a more reasonable explanation than finding yet another person who defies the laws of nature."

"It has happened at least two other times that we know of. It is not that implausible that it should happen again," Henry pointed out.

"So what does your immortal think of your theory?" Abraham asked.

Henry shook his head.

"She doesn't know."

"Wait – she?" Abraham asked.

"Yes, she," he said. "They do make up fifty-three percent of the population, you know."

Abraham shrugged.

"I just thought it was interesting," he said. "We haven't had any women before."

"Well, a sample size of two was hardly large enough to identify any type of gender predilection."

"But she doesn't know that she might be an immortal?" Abraham asked.

"No," Henry replied. "She just thinks she's had a rather narrow escape from death." He sighed. "The concept of immortality is a rather large leap to make, logically speaking. In fact, logically speaking, you would not make that leap at all."

"So why haven't you told her?" Abraham asked.

"If you did not know about me and my condition, Abe, would you believe it if some person you had never met before came up and told you that you were unable to die?" he asked.

Abraham leaned back into his chair.

"Well… no," he conceded. "I'd think you were mad."

"Exactly," Henry said, pacing. "You would presume me mad, because everyone knows that immortality does not exist. That is what we are raised to believe and what we are taught. It is the one, true, most basic human experience - that life always has a beginning, a middle and an end. There should be no such thing as an immortal. It is not a concept that we are raised with the ability to imagine, especially when there is no reasonable scientific explanation behind the phenomenon."

"So… what?" You're just going to let her live in the dark?" he asked.

"How can I do that?" he countered. "Do you think she would not notice at some point? That she does not age and die, even when everyone she knows and loves does around her?"

He shook his head.

"She is so young. There are so many things out there for her to experience. But this is such a tough life, and you have to be fully informed. It is so hard to form attachments, when you know that you eventually must lose them."

Henry sighed, and looked at his son. It didn't seem so long ago that he was just a tiny baby, with his entire life ahead of him. Henry had watched him grow with a father's eyes, as he had grown into a strong, young man that Henry could be proud of. He had watched him go through his successes and his failures. He had watched him experience love and heart break. And now he watched as Abraham began that inevitable decline that all men must go through. All men but him.

And Adam.

And now Doctor Gage.

Henry loved Abraham more than life itself. It is not something you can describe, the love a father has for their child, and he would not have given up being Abraham's father for the world. The thought of losing him was still the most painful experience that Henry expected that he would ever go through. But he had entered into this relationship, knowing that some day he would experience that loss. Claire deserved that foresight, too.

"So what are you going to do?" Abraham asked.

Henry sighed again.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I guess I shall have to take some time to think on it."

"Well, if there's one thing you've got plenty of, it's time," Abraham joked.

Henry smiled a rueful smile.

"That I do, Abraham. That I do."

Henry held the tape measure against the bruise, and looked at it closely. Eight inches long.

Henry hummed to himself as he stood. Given the size of the hand marks permanently engraved into Miss Connor's neck, it seem that the man who killed her was probably around six foot tall, give or take an inch. So not a man that could be classified as particularly tall, but then again, he couldn't be called particularly short, either.

Henry was disappointed at his latest failure to find some distinguishing feature about the man that had killed Miss Connor that may be used to identify him. Many a person thought that Henry had some supernatural gift for discovering clues from the dead. In actual fact is was just a product of his centuries of experience, making him far more observant than your average mortal. He may be able to elucidate a man's career from the wear pattern of his shoe, or the distribution of tan on their skin, but these were all deductions based on clear physical evidence, as obvious to Henry as words written on a page.

Miss Connor did not have any such clues.

The point that talked to Henry the loudest about her death was its randomness. It was obvious from looking at Miss Connor's body that there was nothing that made her an obvious target. He hadn't been drawn to her clothes, or to her appearance. She had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone going for a jog in that park at that time of night. Even in death, she was not special.

The randomness of her death made it very hard to find clues that would help lead police to her killer. The subsequent dunk in the East River made it even more difficult, as all trace evidence had been washed away. The only firm piece of physical evidence they had was these handprints, and even they were proving to be decidedly average.

"You know, I always seem to worry when you sigh."

Detective Martinez was standing near the door when Henry turned around.

"Jo," he said. "I was just examining our Miss Connor to see if there was any more evidence that could help with your investigation."

"And?" she asked, coming to stand by Henry's side.

From this close, Henry could feel Jo's warmth against his skin. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation.

"You are looking for a man of average height – somewhere between 5'11 and six foot," he said.

"That's not much to go on, Henry," she said.

"Well, I have not got much to go on, either," he said.

The disappointment was palpable in his voice.

"It's such a shame that Hanson's lead about another victim turned out to be a bust," she said, looking down at where Miss Connor lay on the table. "With so little trace evidence, having a live victim would have helped a lot."

"I would not be discrediting Doctor Gage just yet," Henry said.

Jo turned to look at Henry.

"You think she's genuine?" she asked.

No. Henry should have said no.

Given his suspicions about Doctor Gage's condition, he should have been trying to discourage as much scrutiny of her as possible. But somehow it just didn't feel right, encouraging his colleagues to think that she was a fraud. It felt almost churlish, and that was a feeling that didn't sit right with Henry's gentlemanly roots.

Which is why when Henry should have been deflecting attention from her, he came to her defence.

"I do," he said.

If Jo had noticed the moment's pause before Henry's reply, she didn't say anything. It was a shorter space of time than it took for her to reply.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I believe you," she said. "Who am I to dismiss your crime scene mojo? If you think she's genuine, then that's good enough for me."

"That is high praise, indeed, coming from you, Detective," he said. "Thank you."

"Don't start blushing now, Henry. You'll embarrass us both," she said. "So if we are to believe Doctor Gage's story, and she was attacked, strangled and dumped in the river by persons unknown, then where do you suggest we start?"

"I believe we should start where we always do," He said. "At the beginning."


	5. Chapter 5

Jo stood at the entrance to the alley, a couple of blocks behind Mercy General Hospital. In the daytime, it hardly looked terrifying. Just like your average New York alleyway. There was your usual pair of dumpsters lining a wall, painted that navy colour in an attempt to make them less noticeable. It obviously succeeded for some people, because rubbish lined the alley. Evidently there had been rain recently, because filthy puddles filled the pot holes along its length. About half-way down, there was a chain link fence, preventing any further egress.

_It's definitely big enough to park a car in_, Jo thought. _Big enough that you wouldn't be able to see it from the street outside._

Not that you would want to park one here long. It wasn't the type of neighbourhood where you'd feel confident that it would still be here when you got back.

Jo and Hanson took a couple steps into the alleyway. There had definitely been a car in here at some point. Wet newspapers had been pressed into the bitumen, crisscrossed by tyre tracks. Jo wasn't that interested in them. After all, it had been a month. She was fairly sure that even if her perp had parked in here, they were unlikely to find car tracks that obviously belonged to him this far down the track.

"What exactly we looking for here, Jo?" Hanson asked, kicking a discarded can away from his path.

"Henry said he believes that Doctor Gage was attacked, and if she was, there are enough similarities that it was by the same guy that killed Juliet Connor. And this is where the alleged crime took place," she said. "So we take a look with our own eyes. It sounds like your friend didn't really expend a lot of energy investigating last time. You never know, we might find something he missed."

"So how does Doctor Crazy-Crackers explain the lack of physical evidence on the victim?" Hanson asked, walking further into the alley.

"He said it's possible that the cold weather and being so quickly submerged in water may have reduced blood flow enough to prevent bruising," she said. "I don't know – it's Henry. When is he ever wrong about anything?"

Hanson smiled.

"Have to give the Doc that. He does have some crazy sixth sense about these things."

Jo stopped in the middle of the alley, and turned to face Hanson again.

"Right. So imagine you're our perp," she said. "You're out on the town, up to no good, and you're on the lookout for someone to snatch and grab. Why do it here?"

Hanson came and joined Jo where she stood.

"Actually, it ain't a bad spot for it," he said. "Right size to fit a car in, it that's your thing. Hell, I couldn't see here from the road, be we got a good look at it now. Plus there's a couple clubs nearby. Wouldn't be hard to spot a drunk girl or two wandering back towards the subway over there."

"So he pulls in here, gets out of the car, and waits for a girl," Jo said, trying to continue the train of thought. "He has to wait for one walking on their own, so he's probably going to be here for a while. Where would you hide?"

"Over there."

Hanson pointed over by the dumpster and headed over there. He squatted down beside it, and ran a hand through the detritus.

"Cigarette butts," he said.

He was careful not to touch them and disturb the evidence.

"We're gonna have to get crime scene over to bag and tag these."

"Good one, Henry," Jo said. "If we've got butts, we've got DNA."

"Hey, why does Doc get the credit?" he asked. "He ain't the one out here dragging his hands through the muck. Hey, Jo. You listening to me?"

"Mike. Look."

She took a couple steps and crouched down, brushing aside a newspaper. There were white marks in the bitumen, where something had attempted to rake it up. Maybe scratch was a better description.

"Shit, Jo. Are those…"

"Scratch marks," Jo said. "Someone was trying really hard to get away from something."

"That's gotta hurt," Hanson said. "How do you dig your nails into asphalt so hard, but you don't rip your nails off?"

"I don't know," she said. "But I'm going to have to ask Doctor Gage for her manicurist's number."

Hanson didn't quite get the joke.

"Look, Jo. Blood."

Hanson was right. The newspaper Jo had brushed aside had dark brown marks on it that could only be dried blood.

"We really have to call in crime scene," Jo said, standing. "I think we may have blown this case wide open."

The man leaned against the wall, holding a cigarette to his mouth as he took a long breath to steady himself. His hand was shaking when he lowered it.

It was there again – that feeling. That restless tension that always seemed to be buzzing away beneath his skin. Growing and growing until he had to find an outlet for it again.

It had only been three days. Only three! It had taken him nearly a month last time before he had needed to give in to it again.

He thought back to that night, to his first kill. Just thinking about it, he could feel the blood begin to pound in his veins. He remembered the sheer terror and exhilaration he had felt, wrapping his arms around a woman's throat until she had stopped moving. He could remember the exact moment that the light had left her eyes.

At the time, he had been terrified. It had never been his intention to kill anyone. He had just wanted to have his way with her and send her on her way, like he had with so many women before her.

But she hadn't done as he'd asked, and she had ended up dead. He had been terrified that someone would find out what he had done, and that he was going to jail. For days, he wore long sleeve shirts so no one could see the scratch marks she had left on his arms and chest.

But a police car had never turned up, and he was fine. It felt like divine providence, that he hadn't been punished for something that had been an accident in the first place. He had promised himself that he would never give in to the sick urges that possessed him again. That would be the last time he would pluck a woman off the street. It had to be.

But the tension began to grow again. Some days, it just felt like his skin was crawling, it was so distracting. He began to look at the women who walked past him again, wondering what the felt like. Wondering what they tasted like. And he knew. He knew he could hold out no longer.

When he had picked his last girl, when she jogged past his hiding spot, he had promised that that time it would be different. He would just fulfil his urges, and then he'd let her go on her way.

So he had grabbed her, and he had had her, but it didn't work. That buzzing tension had not gone away, like it had so many times before.

He was so angry with her that he had grabbed her throat. He had watched her struggle and writhe under him, and it had felt so good that he hadn't stopped. And once again, it had ended with another woman lying dead under his hands.

A young woman stumbled down the road, towards where he stood, dragging on his cigarette. She wasn't drunk. It looked like her high heel had broken, and it looked like she was unwilling to walk down the road completely barefoot.

Everything seemed to still, as he stubbed out his cigarette. He waited for his loping lady to reach him.

He knew this time that the outcome would be no different. Just forcing himself on a woman was not enough anymore. He knew the sheer energy that came with taking a life, and nothing else was strong enough to sate his need. He hated that he was going to kill this woman, but he hated the urge more. He could only hope the relief would last longer this time.


	6. Chapter 6

Henry had a sinking feeling, when he was called to meet Detectives Martinez and Hanson by the waters edge that morning. A body lay on the pavement, hidden by a black plastic sheet. Water spread from under the covering, leaving dark patches on the sidewalk.

"Dog walker spotted something floating in the river this morning," Jo said as Henry approached. "When he got closer, realised it was a person, so he jumped in the river to pull them out."

Jo pulled back the sheet, to reveal a young woman with dark red marks around her throat. The make-up she had been wearing the night before was still on her face, the waterlogged mascara running down her cheeks like black tears. She was younger than the others – maybe eighteen or twenty. She had also suffered more than the others. Signs of early bruising and swelling marked her face, and there were obvious defensive wounds on her arms and legs. Even from this far away, Henry could tell her collarbone was fractured.

"He's escalating," Henry said.

He looked up at Jo, and could tell that she knew that, too.

"What can you tell me about the victim, Henry?" she asked.

"Female, in her late teens or early twenties," he listed off. "Evidence of blunt force trauma to her face, chest, arms and legs. Likely from the impact of a fist. Bruising to her throat just below the thyroid cartilage is consistent with strangulation. That's the likely cause of death, although I will have to get her back to the lab to give you a definitive answer."

"Any news about the evidence Hanson and I collected yesterday at the Gage site?" she asked. "DNA back yet?"

"No formal results yet, but preliminary testing suggests that the cigarette butts came from a male individual," he supplied.

"And the blood?"

Henry sighed.

"Female. A positive."

"Claire Gage," Jo said.

"Most likely," Henry concurred.

Jo rubbed a hand along the back of her neck.

"At least we know now that she was telling the truth," Henry said, trying to lighten the situation.

"What we know is that she's a liar," Jo countered.

"What?"

Jo sighed.

"Blood comes from somewhere, Henry. As a doctor, I'd have thought you'd know that," she said. "Claire Gage did not have a scratch on her when she was pulled from the East River."

"So what do you think happened?" Henry asked.

"Well, she was obviously attacked. Just not on the day she claims she was," Jo said. "She probably went home, showered and went on with life until her injuries healed. Then – for God knows what reason – she decides to go swim in the East River and come out with this story."

"That can't possibly be true, Detective," Henry said.

"Why not?" she asked. "People do crazy things when they're in shock. How many women who are assaulted go straight home and have a shower? It's only later when they calm down they decide to report the crime, after they've already washed away the best evidence."

Jo sighed, and looked back down at their Jane Doe.

"Claire Gage is a smart woman. She probably thought her crime would have been taken more seriously if people thought it happened that day," she said. "That's probably why she staged the whole dunk in the river, to explain away the lack of physical evidence. Wish she hadn't, though. It's completely screwed up our timeline."

"I still don't believe she lied about the date, Jo," Henry said. "It's more than plausible that she bled from a small graze no one else noted. No clinical photographs were taken. Just because a wound was not written down, does not mean it was not there."

"I guess we'll just have to let Doctor Gage explain," Jo said, turning.

"Wait – Jo. Where are you going?"

"To go see Doctor Gage," she said.

"You can't," Henry said, reaching out to grab her coat.

Jo's eyebrows furrowed.

"Why not, Henry?"

"Detective… Jo," he corrected. "Whatever happened to Doctor Gage happened well over a month ago. It will make no difference should you go confront her today or tomorrow. However, you have a fresh victim."

He turned to face Jane Doe.

"She was somebody's daughter. She has a family out there who are probably worried sick about her. You owe it to her to discover her identity, so you can inform her family. Not to mention collect whatever evidence you can to find her killer before the trail goes cold."

"You're right, Henry," Jo said. "Claire Gage can wait til tomorrow."

She turned and left.

Henry gave a small sigh of relief, before turning back towards the body. He had made a convincing argument to delay Jo's enquiry into Doctor Gage, but that was not why he had made it. Jo was about to go and confront a victim with the accusation of being a liar. All because she didn't know about the condition that he and Doctor Gage shared. Claire would be devastated by the accusation, and she would have no reason to understand just why her story was so unbelievable. Henry knew that his time had run out, and it was time to tell Doctor Gage the truth.

Henry had to go tell her that she was immortal.

Claire was surprised to find Dr Henry Morgan pacing outside of Mercy General when she left work that evening. He had his arms held behind his back, and there was a concerned expression on his face as he wandered backwards and forwards. When she exited the building, he spotted her and she waved. She was surprised when Henry came walking over towards her.

"Doctor Gage, good evening," Henry said.

"Uh… Hi," she replied. "How're you?"

"I am well," Henry replied, polite to a fault as always. "How are you?"

"…Fine," she replied.

A creeping nervousness settled between Claire's shoulders – probably a manifestation of the tension that was radiating from Henry. Given the set of his jaw, and the tightness of his shoulders, it was becoming apparent to Claire that this was not a chance meeting.

"Henry, what are you doing here?" Claire asked.

Henry sighed, as though preparing himself. The one sigh was not quite enough, though. A thousand sighs may not be. I mean, how does one prepare themselves to tell someone else that they cannot die?

"Claire," Henry said, adopting her first name as Claire had his. "I am sorry, but I do not bring good news. Another body was pulled from the East River today. We think she was murdered by the same man that attacked you and our other victim."

Claire felt her heart sink.

She nodded heavily.

"Look, I have something to discuss with you, but I cannot talk about it here," he continued. "It has to do with your case. Technically, I should not be talking with you, given the investigation, but it is of vital importance."

"…Okay," she said. "So where should we talk?"

"I am the co-owner of an antique shop. Actually, it's only a few minutes' walk from here. It will be private enough there to discuss what I need to," he offered.

Claire looked at Henry, trying to evaluate the situation. He had just invited her to a private location that she had never been to before. He was a man that she had only ever met once before. Warning lights began flashing in her head. She told herself to snap out of it. She wasn't going to let one abduction ruin her trust in all men forever. I mean, look at Henry. He looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly. Besides, she wanted to find out just what was so important that he would breach protocol and contact her in spite of the ongoing investigation into a now serial killer.

Henry remained silent while Claire considered his offer.

"Okay," she said. "Where's your shop?"

It was a few minutes later that Claire and Henry arrived at Abe's Antiques. Abe himself was sitting at his desk, like he always did, polishing a silver tray.

"Henry," he said.

"Abe, I would like you to meet Doctor Claire Gage," Henry said. "She and I have some business to attend to in my study."

"Oh," Abe said.

_He knows_, Claire thought. _Whatever it is that Henry wants to tell me, he knows._

Henry led Claire into his study, which was unlike any study that Claire had ever seen. Laboratory would have been a better description. Scientific glassware littered the tabletops, sitting in expensive-looking brass stands. Books and papers littered all other available surfaces, varying from old, worn and yellowed pieces of manuscript to modern, crisp textbooks. There was a slight Victorian feel to the space. A rapier hung on one of the walls, and there were some bird studies kept pristine under their glass containers.

_Oh, God. Maybe he does mean to kill me, after all_, Claire thought.

But, "Please, take a seat," was what Henry offered instead.

Claire settled herself down into the antique armchair. She ran her fingers along the brass studs on the end of the arms of the chair nervously.

"So what did you want to talk to me about, Henry?" she asked, trying to hide her nerves.

Henry sighed again, before taking his seat in the adjoining chair.

"I would like to talk to you about how you ended up in the river," he said.

Her heart sank.

"Not this again. I've already told you – and about a hundred other people – that I don't know how I ended up in the river…"

"And I believe you," Henry interrupted. "What I am saying is that I know how you ended up in the river."

Claire was stunned.

"…What?"

He sighed. (He seemed to be doing a lot of that at the moment.)

"Claire, what I am about to tell you will be very difficult for you to understand," he said. "I want you to promise me that you will hear me out. Can you promise me that?"

"Of course," she said.

"Claire… I don't know how to put this," he said, shaking his head. "The reason why you don't remember how you ended up in the river is because you were not alive when you entered it."

"…What?"

"You were strangled," he said. "You couldn't breathe. Your brain was starved of oxygen, and you died."

Claire scoffed.

"But I'm not dead, Henry. I'm sitting right here…"

"Yes, you're not dead anymore. But you were," he said.

"So you're saying I was dead, but I came back to life," she said, her voice incredulous.

"Yes," he said. "Because you can't die."

Claire laughed.

"Okay," she said, leaning forward to rub her eyebrow with an idle hand. "So I can't die."

"I'm being serious," he said.

"Oh, I know you are," she said. "I also think you're mad."

Henry rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand.

"I wish I were mad," Henry said. "It would make all this so much easier…"

Henry stood and walked over to his desk.

"Oh, come on, Henry," she said. "Think about what you're saying. You think – I'm, what? Immortal? What the Hell would make you think that?"

"Because I am as well."

_Okay, he's mad_, Claire though. _Absolutely barking mad. You've gone and screwed this one up royally. Now you're stuck with a madman is his house of horrors._

"What are you doing," Claire asked, when Henry picked something up off the table.

She pulled herself to her feet when she saw that Henry had a knife.

"I know it's going to be impossible to convince you of something that sounds so farfetched," he said. "So I'm going to have to show you."

"Get away from me, Henry," she warned, backing up slightly.

He froze.

"Claire, I'm not going to hurt you," he promised. "I'm going to hurt myself."

And with that, he plunged the knife into his chest, just below his xiphisternum.

Claire raced to Henry's side as he fell to the floor.

"What the Hell did you do?" she asked, holding the knife that was lodged firmly in Henry's torso, the blood welling up between her fingers as she tried to apply pressure.

The blade was in a bad spot. Angled upwards and slightly to the left, it would have pierced his heart.

"I'm showing you the truth of my words," he said, wrapping a blood-stained hand around hers.

"No – don't touch," she said. "Help!" she called. "Somebody help me!"

He squeezed her hand slightly.

"Trust me," he said.

He pulled the blade out of his chest.

And then he disappeared.


	7. Chapter 7

Henry was gone.

Claire sat of the floor, staring at the spot on the floor where, until a moment ago, an NYPD medical examiner had lay, bleeding to death. But not now. There was no body, no blood, nothing to say that he had ever been here except for the knife she still held in her hand.

He was just gone.

Claire heard footsteps pounding down the stairs that led into Henry's laboratory. Abe spotted her sitting on the floor on her own. Claire dragged her eyes away from the spot on the floor where Henry was meant to be, to look at his friend. Their eyes met wordlessly for a moment, but their conversation was clear.

"Oh, God," Abe said. "He actually did it."

Abe took a couple more steps towards Claire, startling her to her feet.

"Get away from me!" she shouted, holding the knife out towards him.

"It's okay," Abe said, holding his hands up. "I'm unarmed. Look – I can explain everything. Just… put the knife down. Okay?"

Claire didn't know why Abe was so worried. Her hands were shaking so badly that she doubted she'd be able to harm anyone with that knife. In all likelihood, she would drop it in the attempt. But she didn't feel safe enough to drop the show just yet.

"Where's Henry?" she demanded.

"Henry's fine," Abe said, taking another step towards Claire.

"How can you say that, he…"

"He did die," Abe interrupted, shocking Claire into silence. "But he's fine now. Look, he should have at least told you some of this before doing that?"

Claire thought back on that conversation she and Henry had – that completely insane conversation. A short burst of hysterical laughter escaped from her lips. It quickly turned into sobs. She dropped the knife and covered her eyes while she wept.

"Hey, don't do that," Abe said, coming to rest a hand on Claire's shoulders. "Look – we gotta go. Henry will be waiting for us. He'll be able to explain everything."

She dropped her hands to look at Abe, too confused to protest any longer.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the river," he said.

It's not an easy task, finding where Henry Morgan reawakens. There's no particular science as to where the rebirth of an immortal should take place. The only constant is that there's water in the vicinity. Abe remembered the time he and Henry had travelled to Cambodia after the war, and Henry had accidentally stepped on a landmine. They were a long way from any waterways, and he had woken up in a rice paddy. It was one of the few times Abe had heard his father swear, as he tried to disentangle himself from the muck.

Thankfully, in New York, finding him was a bit easier. He always seemed to wake up in the East River – probably because of its proximity to where they lived. The problem was that the East River was rather long, and sometimes it took him quite a while to find him. Most times, Abe enjoyed the drive enough that he didn't mind. Tonight, though, with a young woman in shock sitting beside him in uncomfortable silence in the car, he really hoped it would find his father soon so he could sort out this mess.

There.

Abe noticed a rustling in some bushes by the edge of the road. He pulled over to the side of the road. Henry appeared from the bushes, and ducked over to Abe's car – stark naked – where he hopped into the backseat to retrieve the duffel bag full of clothes that were his "In Case of Emergency Death" supplies.

"Finally!" Henry said. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, I don't know," Abe said, straining backwards so he could face his father. "Maybe it took some time convincing someone who just watched you _die_ _and disappear_ to get in a car with me, to roam the streets looking for you."

"Ah."

Henry turned to face Claire, who was sitting in the passenger seat. She was as white as a ghost and staring at him.

"Why hello, Doctor Gage," Henry said, trying to salvage some dignity. "I am sorry for the trauma, but it was the only way I could think of to convince you I am immortal, as are… OW!"

Claire had swung around to slap him in the face – quite a feat to manage from the front seat of the car. She opened the door and hopped out of the car. Henry followed.

"Doctor Gage… Claire… wait!" he called, as she stormed of down the street.

Henry struggled into the shirt and sweatpants Abe had brought, while following Claire down the street.

"Please, Claire… Just let me explain…"

"No," she said. "No, I don't want to know."

"But you have to, Claire."

He grabbed her elbow.

"Trust me. I would not have told you, had I any other choice."

Claire just stared at him.

"Claire, don't you see? This is exactly what happened to you. The dying. The waking up in the river, naked. Unharmed. It's the exact same thing," he said, trying to explain. "As soon as I heard about your case I knew – I knew you were like me."

"This is impossible," she whispered.

Henry laughed.

"I concur," he agreed. "But it doesn't make it any less true."

He looked down the street towards where Abe sat in his car.

"Please, Claire. Give me a chance to explain," Henry said. "A few hours of your time is all I ask."

"Hours?" she asked.

"Trust me." He half laughed. "You have the time."

Claire sat at the dining table of Henry and Abe's kitchen, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. She didn't exactly want it – tea had never been her thing – but she had to admit that its warmth between her fingers was comforting. In the time since they had returned to the Morgan's residence, Henry had been collecting documents to show Claire, and had deposited them on the table for her to look through. Some of it was to show just how old he actually was, other bits were to prove his many deaths and reawakenings. All in all, they spelt out a picture that Claire could not ignore – that Henry Morgan was immortal.

It still didn't make the concept any easier to believe.

"So let me get this straight," Claire said, as Henry deposited yet another pile of documents on the table. "You're a two hundred year old immortal, who cannot die."

"Two hundred and thirty five. Yes," Henry replied, ignoring the redundancy of Claire's previous sentence.

"You were born in England, murdered on a slave ship to the West Indies," she continued, "and woke up unable to die."

He nodded.

"And you haven't aged since then," she continued.

"Yes," he agreed.

"And Abraham's your son."

"Adopted son, yes."

She rubbed a tired face with her hand.

"This is all mad," she said.

"You've said that quite a lot," he said. "It doesn't make it any less true."

"Or any less insane," she snapped. "Give me a break. This whole thing is a lot to process."

"I can imagine," he replied. "I have had two hundred years to process it, and some days I still wake up and cannot believe that it is quite real."

"Is this a common thing?" she asked. "Are there a lot of people like you? Is this just something that no one talks about?"

Henry shook his head.

"Apart from you, I only know of one other."

"And who is he?" she asked.

Abraham and Henry gave each other a pointed look.

"…That is a story for another day," Henry said.

Claire reached out to touch a photo of Henry and a very attractive blonde woman.

"I believe you," Claire said.

She shook her head.

"As much as I think that I'm mad for saying it, I actually believe you. You are a man that cannot die."

She picked up the photo.

"There's too much evidence here for me to deny that," she said. "My entire life, I've always lived my life to believe in the evidence. I was always focused on the proof of things. It gave a kind of unshakable certainty to my world view. I never had to worry about waking up one day and realising that everything I knew was wrong."

She looked up at Henry.

"But everything I know is wrong," she said. "And I can't work out why. Every piece of science I have ever understood tells me that what you're saying is impossible. People do not come back from the dead. And if they did, they wouldn't magically disappear and resurrect in large bodies of water. It doesn't prescribe to any basic law of science that I have ever come across. But it is true. So what does that mean, Henry? What does that mean about the rest of the world? Is anything I've ever believed in true?"

Henry reached out to place a hand on hers.

"For two hundred years, I have been searching for an answer to this, and I am no closer than I was when I started," he admitted. "There are more mysteries in this world than we can possibly comprehend, but just because we do not understand them, does not mean that there is not some logic behind them. It just means that we do not know enough yet."

"And are you sure I'm like this?" she asked.

Henry looked at Claire sadly. Her bright blue eyes were so wide and sad, like a puppy's. She just looked so lost.

He squeezed her hand.

"It is an educated guess," he replied.

"And there's no way of checking this – my immortality?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Not that I've found. It appears our only biological difference is our inability to die."

"Well, that's just perfect," Claire said, removing her hand from his. "You've just turned me into Schrodinger's dilemma. The only way for me to find out if I am truly immortal is for me to die, but for me to be willing to die I'd have to be sure I'm immortal. This means I am both immortal and not immortal at the same time."

"But, Claire. You already have died…"

"So say you," she interrupted. "All I have is the theory of one crackpot medical examiner who thinks because our histories share some similarities, it mean that we are the same. That would be like saying an echidna and a hedgehog are the same just because they both have spikes. You didn't see my attack happen. You don't know it was the same."

"There is no other logical option," he pointed out.

"How is me being immortal the logical option?" she demanded. "How? I don't want this! I've never wanted this! I never wanted any of this!"

Claire took a deep breath in. It sounded vaguely like a sob.

"I wish I went out for that drink with David," she said. "None of this would have ever happened had I not decided to walk to the damn subway on my own."

Henry reached out a hand to place on her shoulder.

"It's been a long day, Claire. I think it's about time we call it a night," Henry said.

She looked up at him.

"What?"

"If my theory is correct, then we have more than enough time for you to think about it," Henry joked. "There is no point trying to work everything out tonight. I'll get Abraham to take you home. We will talk more tomorrow."

Claire looked over at where Abraham sat on the couch. He stood up and walked over to where she and Henry were.

"Okay," she conceded, and stood to get her coat.

Henry walked her and Abraham to the door.

"I will see you tomorrow, Claire," he said. "Everything will seem better in the morning."

Claire smiled ruefully.

"If what you said today was actually true, then I very much doubt that."


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a long night for Claire. It was well past midnight when Abe dropped her off at her apartment, and she had spent the next few hours ruminating on the revelations of the evening. That Dr Morgan was an immortal – that immortality even existed – and if he was right, she might be as well.

Claire had never thought about it before, but living forever was a terrifying thing. To watch everyone you know and love move through the stages of life and die, while you remain the same… It must be horrible. All that an endless life gave you was the opportunity for endless loss. It was not something Claire wanted.

Claire hadn't been convinced by Henry's argument that she must be an immortal like him. She couldn't even comprehend it being true. After all, he did not exactly have a lot of evidence to base that assertion on – just that she was found naked in the river after an assault. There were any number of possible options to explain that series of events besides delving into the supernatural.

But the depth of Henry's conviction was troubling. That he had even told her it was a possibility at all, knowing that she would think he was mad, spoke volumes. A man who had been forced to keep such a large secret for such a large time did not expose himself on a whim.

But Claire didn't want Henry to be right. She didn't want any of this to be true. She had gone to bed, hoping against hope, that when she woke up in the morning, that it would all turn out to be a bad dream.

When Claire's alarm clock had gone off that morning, she had been disappointed to discover that it wasn't the case. Memories of the night before flooded her head, and she had groaned and covered her head with a pillow. She just wanted to hide and pretend the world didn't exist, even if just for the one day. But sadly, work awaited her. In spite of whatever revelations that had occurred the day before, she still needed to go. It wasn't like she could say she was not coming into work because she was depressed by the possibility of being immortal. It would get her a day off work, but it would also probably get her placed in a mental facility. So she had decided to face the day and go to work, and delay processing that possibility until another time. After all, life goes on.

She looked around at her ED colleagues, suddenly very aware of their mortality.

At least life went on for now.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Claire blinked, bringing herself back to now.

"…I'm sorry?"

"I was trying to tell you about my bowel movement this morning," the little old lady said, sitting on the barouche with the suspicious icecream contained in her lap. "I normally open my bowels at six am in the morning. Today I didn't go until eight am. Do you want to see?"

"Um… No," Claire replied honestly. "Mrs McIntosh, having your bowels open two hours later than normal is not an emergency. It's called natural variation. So how about you hand over that container and I go dispose of it in a waste bin, okay?"

"But I always move my bowels at six am," she declared, not to be dissuaded. "Not a quarter past. Not half past. Six am on the dot. They say that if your bowel habits change, then it could be a sign of cancer. What happens if I have cancer?"

_Why do you care?_ Claire wondered. _You're eighty-five years old and your life rotates around what time you go for a shit! It's not like you can live forever…_

…Except that Claire might.

Claire couldn't do this. Not today.

"Excuse me, Mrs McIntosh. I'll just go get somebody who can help you," Claire said, pulling off her gloves and leaving.

Claire walked through the ED towards the staffroom, intent on just getting out. She didn't know what she was thinking, coming in to work today. Hot tears began to roll down her cheeks. Life just seemed too much to bear in that moment. And now she knew it would go on forever.

"Hey, Claire… What's the matter?"

_Oh, shit…_

Claire hastily wiped her eyes, trying to remove the evidence of her tears.

"Hey, David," she said. "It's fine. It's nothing."

She tried to force a smile to her face, but failed.

"It doesn't look like nothing," he said. "What's up?"

Claire shook her head.

"I don't know how to explain. It's personal," she said.

David rubbed a hand through his hair.

"Is this about… You know… Last month?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "I got an update about the case last night. It's a bit much to process."

At least that statement wasn't entirely untrue.

"How about I take you home?" he asked.

Claire was shocked.

"…What?"

"Look – it's obvious you shouldn't be working today," David said. "My shift is over. Let me walk you home."

"I can't ask you to do that," she said.

"I want to," he insisted.

He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced.

"I will feel better for it," he continued. "I can't help but think about the last time I offered to walk you and you said no."

_I can't help but think of it, either. I mean, I died, after all_, Claire thought.

"Okay," she said. "Let's walk home."

The only interest Jo had that morning was in the cup of coffee that was currently warming her fingers. It was the only bright spot in an otherwise dark day. Two murders in less than a week, and she was no closer to catching the man responsible than she had been the day the first body washed up on the banks of the East River.

Jo had really been hoping that the DNA they pulled at the Gage crime scene would fix that. She had hoped the perp was on the system. But today, when she arrived at her desk, the worst was revealed when she found Detective McCoy sitting on the edge of Hanson's desk. He had come with the news that the DNA had come back off the cigarette butts, and there was no ID.

There was, however, a match to six unsolved rape cases throughout New York and Brooklyn over the past year.

"Felicity Johnson… Laura Kendrick… Pam Lee… Willow Hawker… Georgia Lewis… Anne Davidson…" Luke listed, slapping one case file after another down onto her desk. "All in the last twelve months. This guy's been busy."

"If he's been so busy, then why hasn't anyone caught him yet?" Jo asked. "Surely someone must have noticed all this?"

She flicked the pile of papers. It gave a reassuring thud on the desk.

"Different boroughs," Luke said. "No one thought to look. I've sent word out to other departments to see if we've got any more hits, but these are all that's popped up so far."

Jo knew she should have been pleased that there was movement in the case. The problem was, it was movement in the wrong direction. They were meant to be getting closer to finding their perp, not collecting more victims.

"It shouldn't have taken so long identifying the link," Jo said, sitting down in her chair and taking a long drag on her coffee. "It's a pretty specific MO – grab a random girl at knife point, rape her in the back of a car, let her go."

"It was a pretty benign one," Luke said, as if rape could ever be described that way. "Just catch and release. Apart from the knife threats, none of the girls were ever injured. Until Claire Gage."

"Until Claire Gage," Jo repeated.

She picked up the folder from amongst the pile.

Claire Gage seemed like the key to the puzzle, and that feeling was only getting stronger by the day. She was also the bridge between Detective McCoy's rapes and her murders. Something happened when she was assaulted that changed everything. And Jo had a feeling that once she worked out what that was, she'd work out who her perp was.

"So I hear you found blood at the crime scene," Luke said.

Jo looked up at Luke, trying to suppress the irrational dislike she had for the man. She tried to tell herself it was just because he made such a bloody mess of the Claire Gage case, but if she was being honest with herself, it was for another reason. He just looked so much like Sean it hurt. He had the same point to his nose and the same shape to his eyes. Hell, in the brief moments that it flicked across his face, even his smile looked the same.

"On a newspaper covering scratch marks in asphalt, where Claire had tried to drag herself away from her attacker," Jo said.

"It was Claire's blood?" Luke asked.

Jo nodded.

He scratched his forehead – yet another tick that reminded Jo of her late husband.

"How the Hell did we miss that?" Luke asked.

"Yes, how the Hell did you miss it?" Jo asked. "It took Mike and me a grand total of five minutes looking around that alley to find it. You were there on the day, and you didn't notice."

He glared at her. He hadn't missed the judgement in her voice.

"Look – Jo – can I just say something and clear the air?" Luke asked. "I know you don't like me. And I know it's cause I stuffed up on this case, big time. Trust me – I'm kicking myself in the arse about it, too. And I know it's no excuse, but I obviously wasn't on my game that day. My wife had just left me, and then I was faced with this case where we weren't even sure there was a case. I may have been in a hurry to get it off my plate, and I may have overlooked things I shouldn't have."

He placed his hand on the pile of folders.

"Two women are now dead – and I know that's on me," he said. "Maybe if I'd paid more attention when it first happened, then we could have caught this son-of-a-bitch before he killed them. Maybe not. But what I do know is I'm not going to let the death count rise on my behalf anymore. I'm not going to rest until we catch this piece of shit and put him behind bars where he belongs. And if that means working with you and knowing that you hate me, then fine. Just know that I'm going to see this case out with or without your help."

Jo took a moment to look at Luke. In that moment, he looked more like Sean then he ever had before. The way that he had chosen to stand up for himself – and for this case – was something that her late husband would have approved of. He wasn't going to let himself get bogged down in his past mistakes. He was going to make sure he remained focused on the task at hand. And she respected that.

"Okay," Jo said, leaning back into her chair.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Okay," Jo said. "You're on the team. So where should we start?"

The way Luke startled showed he obviously hadn't expected this outcome.

"Um… Yeah…" he said. "So, where are we up to with our latest victim?"

Jo smirked.

"Sophie Hillcrest," she supplied. "And I think our ME should be just about through with his autopsy. Feel like taking a walk?"


	9. Chapter 9

"Lucas… Lucas!"

Henry looked up from the corpse of Sophie Hillcrest, to look around the morgue for his assistant. He spotted Lucas sitting at his desk, his head bopping along to some music Henry couldn't hear, his back to him.

Henry sighed and rested Miss Hillcrest's arm back down on the table. He walked over to Lucas and tapped his shoulder, startling him. It took a moment for Lucas to regain his balance, swinging in his chair to face Henry.

"Henry… I mean… Doctor Morgan…" Lucas said. "I had my headphones in… I didn't… I mean… What's up?"

"Headphones, Lucas?" Henry asked, folding his arms. He didn't look impressed.

"I'm sorry," Lucas said. "It's just you've been a bit…" He waved a hand. "…You know… today. I thought you just needed some time."

"What's 'you know'?" Henry asked, waving his hand.

Lucas just shook his head, not willing to get into it.

Working with Henry Morgan was many things, but the one thing it had never been in Lucas' experience was quiet. Henry loved to lecture on all kinds of esoteric topics – whether Lucas could identify what relevance they had to the case at hand or not. Over the time that Lucas had worked with Dr Morgan, he had come to enjoy these talks of his. His 'Henryisms', as he coined them. But ever since Henry turned up to work that morning, all Lucas had been inflicted with was silence. And it was driving him nuts. He had managed to put up with a few hours of Henry silently pouring over the latest floater's body, but the interminable silence had begun to get on Lucas' nerves, so he had done the only thing he could think of, and generated his own noise. He plugged his headphones in and got on with work. Lucas wasn't quite sure why his boss was so quiet today, but he was happy to wait it out. If he'd learned nothing else about Henry, it was that even if he asked, he was unlikely to be told.

"Nothing," Lucas said. "What did you want me for?"

"I was wondering if you could take a look at Miss Hillcrest for me? Specifically, her tan."

Henry's requests were nothing if not novel.

Lucas walked over to the table, and looked at the body.

"She's a bit orange, isn't she?" he said, looking up at Henry to check for his approval.

"Quite," he concurred. "It seems Miss Hillcrest was somewhat of a fan of spray tanning. I believe she probably had her last session the day of her death."

"What a waste of money," Lucas said.

Henry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it's not like she got any use out of it," Lucas said.

"I dare say she did not take in to account the risk of getting murdered on her way home when going in for the procedure," Henry said dryly.

"What procedure?"

"Ah, Jo," Henry said, turning to face Jo as she entered. "And Detective McCoy. What a pleasant surprise."

"Please – Luke," he corrected.

"So what procedure, Henry?" Jo asked.

"I was just telling Lucas here that our victim likely had a spray tan on the day of her death," Henry said.

"Interesting, but not very useful," Jo said. "We already know she got grabbed on her way home from college. I don't think our perp followed her there from her tanning session."

"On the contrary. It's very useful. You see, Miss Hillcrest's tan was so new it had not dried properly."

Henry dragged his magnifying light over the victim's wrist. Jo came to lean over Henry's shoulder.

"Those are grip marks," Jo said.

"And likely fingerprints," Henry said. "But that's not what's interesting."

He dragged the magnifying light over slightly.

"Do you notice the slightly bulbous appearance to his fingerprints?" Henry asked. "That is evidence of clubbing of the distal phalanges. It is a sign of certain disease states, such as those caused by significant respiratory, cardiovascular or hepatobillary disease."

"So you're saying our perp is sick?" Jo asked.

"Quite possibly," he said. "Probably quite seriously. We can exclude a few possible causes, due to the level of exertion required for his crimes, but I would be looking at men who have a quite significant medical problem."

"Thanks, Doc. We'll just go over the medical records of all the sick guys in New York City," Luke said sarcastically.

"I was more thinking that someone with such significant medical problems would probably require a substantial amount of medical intervention," Henry said. "Claire Gage was grabbed just outside of Mercy General Hospital."

"Wait a sec…" Jo went and rushed over to the computer and opening a file. "Laura Kendrick – the second rape victim – was grabbed on her way out of a twenty-four hour pharmacy in Brooklyn. And Pam Lee was on her way home from work at the Yeomans Centre – they have a number of medical specialists working there."

"So you see, Detectives? Our so-called random attacks are not so random after all. They are crimes of opportunity, based around the medical appointments of a very sick man."

"That's brilliant, Doc," Luke said.

Everybody turned to look at him.

"What? It is," he said.

"Yeah, but Henry always says brilliant things," Lucas said. "We've moved past pointing it out."

"Sorry for being the newbie," he said. "But we're missing the point – all we have to do is find a patient with clubbing who visits all these places regularly, and we have our guy."

"It's just getting access to that kind of medical information is going to be difficult," Jo said. "You'd need a warrant to get access to those kind of records, and you're not going to have enough for a warrant without that information."

"Either that, or a doctor who is willing to access those records," Luke said.

It took them all a moment to realise who they were speaking of.

"Okay," Lucas said. "Now _that_'s brilliant."

Claire laughed, ran her hand through her hair and smiled. She looked up at David, at where he sat at the table across from her, nursing his cup of coffee.

Claire knew she should have felt bad, sitting at a coffee shop with David, drinking coffee when she was meant to be at work, but she didn't care. It was just nice not having to worry about work, her assault, her death, or the possibility that she was immortal for a change. It was just a simple, uncomplicated cup of coffee with a boy, and uncomplicated was definitely what she needed right now.

"I don't think that actually happened," Claire said.

"No – I'm deadly serious," David replied.

"You're telling me that you once accidentally kidnapped your own cousin?" she asked.

"It's true!" he said. "I had volunteered to take him to his school soccer match. Only problem was that my aunt didn't tell her ex-husband that. He went to school to pick him up for visitation and couldn't find him, so he called the cops and got an amber alert issued."

Claire laughed again.

"Are you laughing at me, Doctor Gage?" David said, being falsely indignant. "I'll have you know I got arrested. Imagine explaining that one at my medical school entrance interview!"

"Oh, as if they charged you," she teased, waving a hand at him.

"True," he admitted, leaning back into his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "So what about you? Any deep dark secrets from your past you wish to share? Any brushes with the law?"

Claire felt her heart sink.

"Oh, God," David said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring up…"

"Don't," Claire interrupted. "Don't treat me like I'm damaged, David."

"No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying…"

"I know," she said. "Look, thanks for the coffee and all, but I should be going."

"Claire…"

Claire stood up and collected her things, tossing her jacket over her arm as she turned to leave. David grabbed her arm.

"Let me walk you home," he said.

"I don't need your protection, David," Claire said.

"I didn't think you needed it," he replied. "I didn't ask you out today because I felt sorry for you, Claire. Or that you needed protection. I asked you out cause I like you, okay?"

"Really?"

The words escaped her lips before she managed to stop them.

He laughed.

"Yes, really," he said. "I just have the worst timing in the world."

"You have no idea," Claire said.

In a flash, the next sixty years of Claire's life played out for her inside her head. Forever compressed into a single second. She saw the romance that could be - the grand gestures and the nights home on the couch. The birthdays and Christmas' year after year. A love that only grew through shared experience. But she also saw the effect that time would have on David. She saw his features change from that of a young man, to a dignified elder, then a grandfatherly figure. She saw all that was young and vital about him wear away, until one day she would lose him to time's endless march.

All the while, Claire remained exactly the same. Unchanging. A heart that had lived a hundred years forever hidden behind a mask of twenty-eight. A heart that would love, and would lose. That loss seemed almost more painful than the thought of just being alone forever.

Was she really ready to fall in love, when she knew that loss would only ever be the possible outcome? Could she put herself through that pain?

"I'm sorry, David. But I don't think I'm ready for that sort of commitment right now," she said.

David nodded.

"Fine," he said. "But just so you know, whenever you're ready, I'm here."

She nodded.

"Bye."

Claire took the opportunity to leave. She wrapped her arms around herself, and walked towards the edge of the park and home. Each step she took felt like another step towards eternity – a path that she would always end up walking alone.

If Henry was right.

Which Claire was beginning to sense that he was.


	10. Chapter 10

Forever was a difficult concept to get used to. Henry had first-hand experience of that. Which was why when Claire turned up at his door step that night, he was not surprised.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just have to know."

Her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were tear stained. She had her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she was wearing her running gear. It looked to Henry that she had gone for a jog, and had just run around and round until she had ended up on his doorstep. That that was where she needed to be.

"Come on in," he said, standing aside.

She walked past him into the shop, navigating around the display of antiques to come stand by Abe's desk. She turned around to look at Henry, her hands covering her mouth.

"Take a seat," Henry invited. "I would invite you upstairs, but Abe is probably sleeping. And downstairs…"

The last time they were downstairs together, Henry had killed himself.

"I'm fine standing," she said, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"Claire…"

"No," she interrupted. "Henry, I've been thinking – about last night. About your suspicions about my… condition. I can't live with not knowing whether I can or cannot actually die."

Henry sighed.

"What brought this on, Claire?" he asked.

"When I woke this morning, I told myself that everything was fine. That everything was normal, and I went back to work," she explained. "I tried to pretend that what I could be didn't matter. But being surrounded by my life, and knowing that someday I might still be here but everyone I know and love might not be…" She shook her head. "The risk of having something that I could lose seemed a far more painful reality than never having anything to love at all. How am I meant to live my life if I don't know what I have to lose?"

"Everybody goes through their lives with that possibility, Claire," Henry said. "Whether you are immortal or not. Mortality does not insulate you from the risk of loss."

"But immortality confirms it," she said.

"Claire, I have walked this path for over two hundred years now," Henry said. "Immortality is no reason to close yourself off from the world. A life lived forever alone is no life at all."

"But I still have to know," she said. "Even if knowing doesn't change the eventual outcome."

"The only way for us to confirm if you are truly immortal is for you to die again…"

"I know," she said. "That's why I'm here. Henry, I need you to kill me."

Henry froze.

Henry had been asked that request before – by a young man, kneeling in his laboratory, a katana at his knees.

_I want you to kill me, with this._

When he had asked, Henry had been convinced that this man was Adam. Convinced that he was immortal, as he was. And he had stabbed him through the heart with a letter opener, when he had thought Abraham's life was in danger. When he thought that the only consequence he would have would be him disappearing to be reborn elsewhere.

He had been so sure. But he had been wrong. He had watched the light fade from Clarke Walker's eyes, never to return. He had felt his body go limp and slump to the ground, where it would remain.

He had been so sure.

"No," Henry said.

He could not take that risk with Claire Gage's life. Even though he was sure of her condition. He had been sure in the past.

"Henry, please," she said.

"No," he repeated.

"If you don't," she warned. "I'll do it myself…"

Claire placed a hand on Abe's desk and picked up a letter opener – a letter opener, of all things! – and brought the tip to her throat.

"Claire – don't," Henry warned, stretching a hand out towards her.

"Henry, I have to know," she said.

"Not like this," he begged. "Please. Claire, immortal or not, death is still real. There is still pain. And the memory of each and every one will remain with you for the rest of your life."

"I need to," she said.

Henry could see her hand shaking. He watched as grim determination set on her face. She tilted her face to the side.

"I'm sorry…"

"Wait!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'll do it. Please, Claire, just put the letter opener down."

Claire wavered.

"You're bluffing," she said.

"No. No I'm not," he said. "But let's be slightly more clinical about it. You puncture a carotid and die, and I am wrong…"

He shook his head.

"I will be unable to help you. But – just maybe…"

He rubbed a hand through his hair.

"I have a defibrillator downstairs," he explained. "Don't ask why. I just needed it for an experiment once. If I shock your heart, I can stop it. You will be clinically dead."

He looked at her, hoping she would understand.

"If it doesn't work, you plan to shock me back," she said.

"Yes," he said, relieved. "Now, I do not know if this will work. I do not know if it's only permanent death that causes us to disappear, but I am willing to try. It does not completely exclude the possibility of immortality, but it would prove it."

Claire nodded.

"Okay, Henry. Let's do it your way."

Claire lay on the barouche in Henry's lab, ECG dots stuck to her chest. The defibrillation pads had already been applied. Abraham stood in the corner, leaning against Henry's desk. He had not been pleased when his father had woken him up to get him to assist him in his, quite frankly, insane plan. But Henry needed him. If this worked, then he needed someone to go find Claire. And if it didn't… Well, he might need someone to call an ambulance while he attempted to resuscitate her.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked, fiddling with one of the nobs on the defibrillator.

Claire nodded.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she said.

"Are you sure?" Henry asked. "I mean, I may be ninety-nine percent sure this will work, but there is still a chance…"

"Don't worry, Henry," she said. "I won't blame you if it doesn't. I'm ready."

Henry nodded, and took a deep breath in to gather his courage.

"I'll see you soon, Claire," he said.

He pressed the button.

Henry watched as Claire convulsed, then went still. The ECG lines on the screen were a haphazard mess. R on T phenomena, they call it. Where a QRS complex is superimposed on the repolarisation phase of the conduction of a heartbeat. It induces a ventricular arrhythmia that stops the heart. It had done exactly what Henry thought it should.

But Claire did not disappear.

"Henry – come on," Abraham said, anxiously coming over to where his dad stood. "It didn't work. Now bring her back."

"Not yet," he said.

"Dad!" he said.

"Not yet, Abraham!" Henry yelled.

"You're killing her," he said.

"That _was_ the point of the exercise," Henry said. "But we have to give this a chance. Claire is risking all this so we can know."

"So _you_ can know," Abe said. "Dad, this is insane. Why are we risking this girl's life on a theory?"

"It's not a theory."

"Then why is she still here?"

Abraham was right. Claire was still lying on the table, sixty seconds after Henry had stopped her heart. Her ECG had changed from ventricular fibrillation to asystole. She truly was dead, and she was still here.

And then she wasn't.

"Holy shit," Abe said. "You were right."

Henry did not even think to tell Abe off for his language, like he normally would. He just stared at the empty bed, where Claire had one laid, and said:

"I know."


	11. Chapter 11

Henry remembered it like it was yesterday – his first death. Well, the first death he had where there could be no mistaking that he did actually die. He could still hear the snap of his neck when he and his cell mate hung himself. He could still remember the electric shock that rushed through his body when his neck broke. He remembered waking up in the Thames and the mixed emotions that it brought. The sheer elation at his freedom, after so many months a captive. And the horror at knowing that his theoretical immortality had been proven true.

When Henry woke up in the Thames two hundred years ago, at least he was at rock bottom. His wife had thought him mad. His own parents were dead. His career and good name were over. He had been tortured in an insane asylum and had just spent three months imprisoned with a Catholic priest. There was nowhere to head but up. Sadly, for Claire, this was not the case. When she woke up in the East River, all she could feel was the crash and burn of her entire existence up til that point. Everything that she was and everything that she had ever dreamed to be disappeared in that instant. It would be a hard thing to recover from.

Henry and Abe found Claire sitting on a pier not that far from their antique shop. She wasn't even trying to hide. She just sat there, arms wrapped around her legs like she was trying to hold herself together. She was lucky the cops didn't find her before Henry and Abe did.

Henry got out of the car, holding a towel, and walked towards her.

"Claire," he said.

Ever so slowly, Claire's head lifted to look at Henry. Even in the darkness, her eyes stood out. Two piercing blue orbs in the shadows.

She didn't say a word.

"Come on, Claire," he said. "We've got to go."

Her head bobbed slightly, but she didn't move.

_She's in shock_, Henry realised.

Henry wrapped the towel around her shoulders, before scooping her up into his arms, much like he had with Abraham when he was small and sick. He carried her back towards the car. Abe got out of the car, and held the passenger door open for Henry to get in with his cargo.

Henry sat in the back seat, still holding Claire, as Abe started the car and drove away. He thought for a moment he could feel the vibrations from the road, but it turned out to be Claire, shaking as she gave in to the silent sobs that consumed her.

Henry had sent Abe to bed when they arrived back home that evening. He had offered to help care for Claire, but Henry thought it might be better if he did it himself. Her shock had not worn out yet, even though her tears had. She had become almost catatonic with it.

Henry brought her to the bathroom, and helped Claire get cleaned up. He sponged as much of the river water off her as he could, before helping her into one of his spare shirts and pyjama pants. They were ridiculously oversized on her. Henry chastised himself that he hadn't thought to ask Claire to change before their experiment. Her own clothes would have fit her so much better.

"Henry," Claire asked, when he had finished dressing her. "What happens to me now?"

Henry knew she wasn't talking about tonight.

"You pick yourself back up and you keep going," he said, crouching down in front of where she sat on the bathroom floor.

"But how?" she asked.

It was amazing how childlike she seemed, sitting there on his bathroom floor. Her damp brown hair was starting to curl slightly as it dried. Her bright blue eyes seemed overlarge in her face, and glistened with a sorrow that most people would find hard to comprehend. But not Henry. He imagined that his face must have looked the same at some point, if not so feminine in appearance.

He repositioned himself from his crouch to sitting cross-legged on the floor. It must have been a sight, him sitting on the bathroom floor wearing one of his fancy suits.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's not like we have much of a choice. When it first happens, you are sure that your life is over and nothing will ever be good or normal again. It drags on for days and days, sometimes months or years. But then one day… One day you will wake up, and you will find that things are normal again. Not the normal you remember, but a new normal. And you will get on with life because you have to. Because life will go on whether you want it to or not."

Claire's eyes met his.

"I just want things to go back to how they were," she whispered.

Henry reached out and placed a comforting hand on hers.

"They can't," he said, squeezing her hand for emphasis. "And they shouldn't. I may not know why we're like this, Claire, but someone I once knew told me that it must be for a reason. That there must be some purpose to us being the way we are. And although it may seem impossible right now, you will find a purpose to your life again. I mean, look at me."

He smiled.

"I've walked this earth for two hundred years. I have done more than I had ever hoped to achieve. I have felt my world end by losing those I share it with. I have been convinced that my life will never have meaning again. But then I found Jo, and I've discovered a new purpose. My centuries of study have helped me with solving the deaths of others. I bring solace and justice to those people who would have had none, were I not burdened with experiences that can only be accrued over many lifetimes."

"So you're saying I should become an ME and solve murders for a living?" she asked sarcastically.

"I am saying you should find your own place in this world. The place where you can do the most good," he said. "Only you can figure out where that might be."

"I just feel so alone," she admitted.

"You'll never be alone."

Henry placed a hand on the side of Claire's face. His thumb gently rubbed back and forth along her cheek.

Henry did not know how it happened. Looking back, he would just remember how real Claire felt just then. Like she was the first and only person in his world. The only person who could truly understand his reality. And Claire would feel the same. Humans have a great capacity for fearing loneliness. They crave warmth and attachment, and will grab it wherever offered.

Which is why when Claire leant forward to kiss Henry, he did not immediately pull away. He let his lips move with hers, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Hot tears traced tracks down Claire's cheeks, and Henry could taste their salt as he kissed her. It had been years since Henry had been kissed like this – decades, even. All the emotions of the day seemed concentrated into that moment. It just felt so right. Until it didn't.

Henry came to his senses before Claire did.

Claire had just been through a traumatic experience. Her second in as many months. She was not in her right mind to be making these kind of decisions right now.

But Henry was. Henry always was. And he knew that he had to stop things before they progressed too far. Henry had no plans to seduce Claire Gage. It had never been his intention. And in spite of the part of him that craved a woman's touch, he knew that neither of them were ready for this kind of relationship. Neither of them even wanted it. His mind skipped back to Nora, and to Abigail, and, surprisingly, Jo even flashed through his mind. What would Jo think of Henry seducing a murder victim (not that Jo would ever know Claire was one)?

Henry gently pried Claire away.

"I'm sorry Claire," he said. "We should not do this."

He was surprised when she nodded.

"You're right," she said. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking…"

"Don't be," he said. "It is not like I pulled away immediately. I think we both just got caught up in the moment."

Claire nodded, but still looked embarrassed. She was unwilling to meet his gaze.

"I think it is time we call it a night," Henry said.

Claire ran a hand through her hair.

"Do you… do you mind if I stay?" she asked. "It's just… I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Of course," Henry said. "You can have my bed. I will take the couch."

Henry pulled himself from the floor, and offered Claire his hand. He helped her up, and together they walked to his room.

Claire paused at the door.

"Thank you, Henry," she said. "For everything. It is better knowing, and I am so glad to have you here to help me through it."

"The pleasure is mine," Henry said, his politeness firmly engrained. "Goodnight, Claire."

"Goodnight, Henry."


	12. Chapter 12

Jo woke up early that morning. Not unusual for her at this point during a case. When it starts to feel like the wheels are in motion, it's hard for her to wind down. It's like she doesn't want to interrupt the momentum in the case with trivial things like sleeping and eating. She always took it as a good sign when she started having difficulty staying asleep. It was a sign that things were about to start happening.

She remembered standing in Henry's morgue yesterday, looking at the smudged tan of their victim, as Henry explained just what the marks had meant. That their murderer was sick, and he had likely been picking victims that had passed by his places of treatment. That he had physically distinguishing marks that could help to identify him, if only they could find a suspect.

Jo paced restlessly in her kitchen while she prepared breakfast – a dry piece of white toast and cup of coffee. She just wanted time to hurry up, so she could meet up with Henry and Luke and go see Dr Gage. She knew that approaching a victim to search hospital records for her potential abuser was not standard police procedure. In fact, if the DA found out about it, it would get thrown out of court. But ever since Jo met Henry, she found that her focus on the rules was becoming laxer. She just needed to get this guy off the street before there were any more bodies on Henry's slab.

Jo looked over at the clock, where the hands were inching towards seven am, and found herself wondering if Henry was up yet, and whether it was appropriate to go visit. Jo had a feeling that Henry would be integral in getting Claire to help with their plan. The last time Jo had met her, it was obvious that Claire was becoming jaded with the police. Understandably so. She had been through a traumatic experience, and had ended up being the one accused. Jo herself had done it. And while she still suspected there was more to Claire's story than she was letting on, she still thought that Claire deserved justice for what had happened to her. Even if she wasn't entirely sure what that was. Henry had always been in Claire's corner, and Jo was sure that she would realise that. She also hoped that there would be some camaraderie there, given that they were both medical professionals. It had worked well for Jo and Henry in the past, with the Clarke Walker case.

Seven am. That was late enough. Jo left her house into a biting New York morning, wrapping a scarf around her neck several times as she made her way out to her car and drove to Henry's. When she arrived, Abe's Antiques was still shut. She banged on the door, and Henry appeared.

"Jo… What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Hi. Nice to see you, too," she said, pushing past him and into the shop.

"Well, of course it is nice to see you, Detective," he said. He looked back over his shoulder towards the stairs. "I was just wondering what brought you to my abode at seven am in the morning?"

Jo lifted an eyebrow.

"Henry, what's wrong?" she asked.

He smiled – one of those smiles he always gave her when he was trying to distract her.

"Why would you think something is wrong?" he asked.

"I _am_ a detective, Henry," she warned. "I can tell when you're lying to me."

Henry looked over his shoulder again.

"…Is someone here, Henry," she said, sounding amused.

"No…"

Jo ducked around Henry and jogged up the stairs to the kitchen. Abe stood by the breakfast bar, preparing breakfast. And at the table sat Claire Gage.

Her victim – her star witness – was sitting in Henry's kitchen, having breakfast. In his pyjamas.

"Jo…"

Jo turned around to face Henry, who had joined them upstairs.

"Jo… It's not what you're thinking," Henry said.

"What the Hell, Henry!" she exclaimed.

She didn't care that Abe and Claire were watching – she was mad. Mad as Hell.

"Jo, how about we go and have a talk somewhere else," he said, trying to shepherd her to somewhere more private.

"Henry, what the Hell is our victim doing in your kitchen?" she asked, pointing at Claire. "Have you… I mean… Are you guys sleeping together?"

"What? No!" Henry exclaimed.

Claire gave a similar denial.

Jo shook her head.

"You're unbelievable."

She stormed past him and down the stairs. Henry followed.

"Jo… Wait…"

Henry grabbed her arm. Jo was sorely tempted to hit him, she was so furious. How could he do this to her…

_To the case_, she corrected herself. How could Henry do this to the case?

"Let go, Henry," she warned.

"Jo. Please let me explain," he begged. "It really is not what you think it is."

"Oh, really? Do explain," she said. "Because from what I see, you have our victim sitting in your kitchen, eating breakfast _in your pyjamas_. And from where I'm from, there's not many reasons for grown up girls and boys to be having sleep overs."

Henry's mouth just opened and shut like a fish, unsure as to what he could say. He could hardly explain that the reason Claire was in his clothes was because she had died yesterday, and her own had disappeared. He could hardly tell her that the reason why she was over at his house was because she was upset at discovering that she, like him, was immortal.

So Henry did what he always did, and settled for the most believable lie. Even though it broke his heart to do so.

"I'm so sorry, Jo," he said. "It just happened."

Jo looked gutted.

"What the Hell, Henry," she said. "Do you realise how badly you have screwed things up here? She's a victim. You're our ME. There's a conflict of interest there. You've just tainted all the evidence you've collected up til now. No judge in the world is going to believe that you are impartial if you are sleeping with the victim."

Jo was deflecting. As valid as her points were, they were very much not the reason why she was so hurt right now. She was just overwhelmed by a sense of betrayal, although she wouldn't allow herself to think about why she felt that way.

"It was a mistake," Henry conceded. "I promise you, it will not happen again."

"It doesn't matter," Jo said, shaking her head. "I'm going to have to take you off the case."

"Jo…"

"No, Henry," she said, holding her hand up. "Don't. I think it's just better if you and I don't talk until after this case is done."

"But you need me," he said.

"Yes, I do," she snapped. "Which is why this is such a phenomenal stuff up. Henry, there's a murderer out there, and I need your help catching him. You could have waited until after the case is all said and done, but no. You had to go and sleep with a witness – again."

"Again? If you are talking about Ioana, nothing happened there."

"No? So you, what, fell into her torture equipment and lost your shirt?" She shook her head. "At least I should be glad about you coming clean about this one. Goodbye, Henry."

"Jo… I…"

The door shut, and she was gone.

Henry landed heavily in Abe's chair, crushed by the emotional weight of what just happened. He hated having to lie to Jo. He wished so hard he could have just told her the truth, but at the same time, he knew he could never tell her it. It was different with Claire. She had to know the truth, because she had to live it. But Jo… Jo he could protect from his existence. She didn't deserve to be burdened with his reality. And Henry would never risk losing her for the sake of disclosure. She had just become such an integral part of his life, he would do anything to protect her. Even if that involved lying to her.

Which was why he wondered why keeping that secret hurt so badly.

The look on Jo's face when she had gone upstairs and found Claire. The barely concealed pain and the obvious disappointment in him. It had cut through Henry like a knife. He didn't know quite when he had become so protective of Detective Martinez, but in that moment, he would have done anything to protect her from that pain. And he hadn't been able to. He had a choice of ruining his professional integrity or protecting his secret, and like always, his secret had won out.

"Is she gone?"

Henry turned to face the stairs, where Claire leaned over the banister to talk to him.

"Yes," he confirmed, turning back to face the door she had left through.

Claire walked down the stairs, and came to sit on the edge of Abraham's desk.

"It really does suck, doesn't it? Having to lie to the people important to you," she said.

Henry laughed.

"Yes, Claire. It does suck."

The word felt weird on his tongue.

"Does Jo know you're in love with her?" she asked.

His head swung to face hers.

"I'm not in love with Jo…"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Of course," he insisted. "We are just partners. And friends. But nothing more. We could never be anything more."

"Because of your secret?" she asked.

His silence served as confirmation.

"Weren't you the one who told me that immortality was no reason to close yourself off from the world? That a life lived forever alone is no life at all?"

"I am not alone. I have Abe," he pointed out.

"It's not the same, and you know it," she said. "Look, I'm not going to get all judgey. I just think you should probably think about some of your own advice."

She got up and left, leaving Henry alone in the antique shop. It was not lost on him that many of the items filling it were mementoes of his past, touched by the memories of those times. He found himself wondering how long it would take this moment to age like those memories had. He had a feeling it would remain vivid for a while.


	13. Chapter 13

Luke was already at the station when Jo arrived that morning.

"Hey, Jo," he said, pulling himself up from where he was leaning against Hanson's desk. "So, are we ready to go collect Henry and give our good doctor a visit?"

"We're not going to go see Doctor Gage," Jo said, going to sit at her desk. "And Doctor Morgan is off the case."

Luke frowned.

"Can I ask why?" he asked. "Look – I know it's not exactly protocol, but we desperately need a break in this case."

Jo sighed, and rubbed her face with a tired hand.

"Henry is having an affair with Claire Gage."

Jo hated to say it – and not just because saying the words caused a heavy weight to settle in her chest and clutch at her heart. She knew Henry was a private person. Hell, that man was cocooned in so many secrets, she was surprised he needed his scarves to stay warm. She knew Henry would hate talking about his private business behind his back, but as far as she was concerned, that was his problem. He shouldn't have slept with Claire in the first place.

Luke looked shocked.

"Shit. Really?"

Jo nodded.

"Shit."

"Tell me about it," she said. "So he's off the case."

Luke sighed.

"Okay. He's off the case," he said. "I'm just surprised, you know? I mean, I knew your ME was a bit weird and all, but sleeping with a vic? Surely he knew how screwed up that was."

"He's been fully informed," she replied, trying to end the conversation. "So the question is, where do we go from here? We were kind of counting on Doctor Gage to help us identify potential perps from their health records. I don't think she's going to be that keen on helping, given everything."

"Well, we do have another way to go about that," Luke said. "My soon-to-be-ex-brother-in-law is a doctor. He might be able to give us a hand. And I'm stressing the might. He didn't exactly like me a lot when his sister and I were good. Doubt that's improved at all now we've split."

"What happened with you and your wife, anyway?" Jo asked, before she had a chance to stop herself.

Luke sighed. He leaned back against the desk, and folded his arms across his chest defensively.

"Vicky says it was the job. Said I cared more about it than her," he said bitterly, shifting his weight from on foot to another. "I'm pretty sure it was her sleeping with my best friend, but what would I know? Supposedly I'm too 'work oriented' to notice."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Luke," Jo said.

"Hey, it's fine. Water under the bridge," he said, trying to brush it away. "How about you? Any special someone?"

"There was, once," she said, the pain of that reality weighted in her voice.

"Did he hurt you?" Luke asked.

The concern on his face hurt Jo. The way he leaned forward to comfort her, and the way that his brows pinched slightly in the middle, just looked so much like Sean it hurt.

"He died," she explained. "So yeah, he hurt me. But it was hardly his fault."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"Bring it up?" she interrupted. "Don't be. How were you meant to know?"

She stood up.

"So let's go meet this brother-in-law of yours. See if we can make some headway in this case."

"Hey, Claire."

Claire spun around to face David, who loped over towards where she stood in the emergency department.

"Hi," she replied.

"Look – I was just checking to see how you were going. After yesterday, I mean. With the case, and stuff."

He lifted a hand to rub through his hair. In another situation, it would have been kind of cute how flustered he was. As it stood, all it did was remind Claire of everything that happened yesterday. David finally telling her that he liked her. Her begging Henry to kill her. Her death and resurrection. Being faced with the incontrovertible truth that she was unable to die.

How could all of that have happened in the past twenty-four hours?

"I'm okay," she lied, because that was what he needed to hear.

She knew it was the first of many, many lies that she would have to tell in the future. And after seeing Henry this morning, post Detective Martinez's departure, she knew that they would never get any easier.

"Good," he said. "Good. So…"

"I'm really sorry, but I've got to get back to work," Claire interrupted. She pointed at the cubicle behind her. "You know… Patient waiting and all that."

David knew she was just trying to get rid of him. It had that awful 'I'm making an excuse so I don't hurt your feelings' vibe to it. He didn't know why Claire was trying to keep him at arm's length, but he respected the fact that she was.

"Yeah, I've got to get going, too," he said. "I'll catch you later."

Claire didn't even say goodbye before turning and leaving.

David was surprised when his phone began ringing while he walked down the corridor towards the nurses' station. He was even more surprised when he saw who was calling him.

"Luke," he said, answering the phone. "What do you want?"

"It's nice to hear from you, too," came the snarky response from his brother-in-law.

"Hey, don't be like that. I'm just surprised," David said. "It's not like we've got any reason to be talking to each other anymore."

"Just because Vicky and I aren't together anymore is no reason for us to stop being friends," Luke said.

"It's not like we were friends before," David replied. "Although I am sorry about how things turned out between you two. That was harsh."

"What was? Her sleeping with Frankie, or her then dumping me and having the gall to say it was my fault?"

"Hey, that's my sister you're talking about," David warned. "So are you going to tell me what you're ringing about, or are we going to keep talking about what a bitch my sister is?"

"As pleasant a topic as that is, I actually have a favour to ask," Luke said. "I was wondering if you had time to catch up?"

"Sure. When?" David said.

"How about now?" Luke asked. "I'm outside."

David sat with Luke and Detective Martinez in the hospital cafeteria. A paper cup filled with what passed for coffee was rapidly going cold in his hands, as his brother-in-law tried to explain his plan to him.

"You want me to go trawling through hospital records to find a guy with clubbed fingers who would go visit a specialist here and at the Yeomans Centre?" David asked.

"Yes," Luke said.

"You know that's illegal, right?" he pointed out. "As in, I could lose my job for that. Besides, you know how many patients are treated here a day? I could search files for the next year and still not find anybody."

"David, I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important," Luke said. "This guy is a rapist and a murderer. He grabbed someone from right outside of here just last month. Since then he's killed two other women."

"Wait – from here?" David asked.

Claire was assaulted a month ago while leaving work.

"We can't go into the details of the victims," Jo interjected, "but yes, an assault took place near here. As Luke said, we wouldn't be asking if it were not important. Any investigation that you do would be purely off the record. We just need to know where to look for this guy. You're involvement will not be disclosed."

_They're asking me to help find the guy that hurt Claire_, David thought.

David had spent his life playing by the rules. He also took his role as a medical professional and the responsibility he had towards patients very seriously. It was possibly one of the reasons he never got along with his brother-in-law, who always seemed to fly on the edge of recklessness both professionally and personally.

Under normal circumstances, he would never think of breaking patient confidentiality for any reason. But this had to do with Claire and finding who hurt her, and David already felt some responsibility towards the fact that it had happened at all. David had asked to walk her to the subway that night, but didn't. Had he insisted on it, maybe she would have avoided getting hurt. And if she hadn't gotten hurt, then you never know what would have happened between them.

"Okay," David said, nodding. "I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do."

"That's all we can ask," Jo said. "Thank for being willing to help."

"Hey, what concerned citizen wouldn't?" David asked, standing and shaking Jo's hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really do have to get back to work. Especially if I'm somehow meant to find time for spying on the NYPD's behalf."

Luke groaned.

"Don't make me regret asking you," Luke said.

"Don't make me regret agreeing to help," David said.

He winked at Jo and left.


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn't good news. It was never good news.

He found himself wringing his hands – that in spite of how hard he washed, never felt clean – as he listened to the doctor talk. He used words like "staging", "inoperable" and "metastases".

"We can do our best to make you comfortable, but we can't cure you," he said. "Any treatment from here on would be aimed at improving the quality of life, not the quantity."

He found himself nodding numbly. It was just so much to take in. He was only forty-one years old. How could his life be over after only forty-one years?

When he had been diagnosed with lung cancer two years ago, his doctors had made out that his prognosis was good. Just a little bit of chemo and radiotherapy, they had said. It was only a little nodule in his lung. He would be fine. But one round of chemo turned into two, then three and four. There had been the biopsies and the hair loss. The burns from the radiotherapy, that even now, months after it was over, still left a mark. He went through twelve months of Hell, and had been told he was in the clear. A couple years of being monitored, and he'd never have to see these blasted doctors again.

He had tried to go on with his life. Tried to regain what he had lost. He knew he wasn't the man that he previously was, but he was trying to forge himself a new image. A stronger image. A man who was in control of his own destiny.

But what control did he have, when all these new spots had turned up on his CT?

He thanked his doctor, because that was what you did. He went and paid the extortionate bill with his secretary. It was typical, really – having to pay the man who gave you a death sentence. He walked outside and lit up a cigarette – yet another irony in the long list that made up his life. These little sticks of death were what killed him, and yet now, facing death, they were his only comfort.

Well, let's face it, they couldn't kill him more.

He looked around at the human sea that ebbed and flowed outside of his oncologist's office. Young people, so vibrant and full of life. Old people, who had the opportunity to live life to the full. He envied them both.

And there were the young women.

His mind flashed back to the last time, as his fists pummelled into her. Her flesh had just felt so young and supple under his hands. Her skin had blushed at his touch, each impact reminding him that he was still alive. That he still mattered. That he still exerted control over something, even if it was just this one thing.

Just the thought of it made the blood thrum through his veins. It almost felt like a fizzing under the skin. His heart sped up at the memory of it, at how alive he had felt taking the life of someone else. He had thought he would feel guiltier about it, but he didn't. Life had hardly been fair to him, why should he be so to anyone else? It could be the last time he had the chance to feel that alive.

He should enjoy the feeling while it lasted.

"Lucas, can you hand me a swab, please?" Henry asked, placing a hand out without looking away from the body he was examining.

"Sure thing, doc," Lucas said, handing him one.

He watched as Henry rubbed the ulcer that had wrapped around the decedent's lower leg. The smell of pseudomonas wafting from it was so strong Lucas wondered why Henry was bothering with the swab.

"I thought we were going to be looking at our murder vic again today," Lucas said.

"Sadly, Lucas, the people of New York continue to die and need our attention," Henry said, replacing the swab into its container. "And as long as that continues to happen, it does mean that sometimes we have to refer examining murder victims on to other people. Doctor Washington will be following that case up from now on."

"Did you and Detective Martinez have a lovers tiff or something?" Lucas asked.

Henry raised an eyebrow at him.

"I was just saying, it's not like you to leave a murder until the crime is solved," he tried to explain. "Let alone leave it to Washington."

"Detective Martinez and I are fine," Henry lied. "We just decided given my relationship to certain people involved in the case, it would be better for the prosecution if I was no longer involved in gathering evidence."

"Wait – what relationship?" Lucas asked, latching on to that piece of information. "Henry, you dawg, you! Are you getting a little bit of bow-chicka-wow-wow with a witness?"

"What's bow-chicka-wow-wow?" Henry asked.

"You know…" Lucas said, and started doing his imitation of a sexy dance.

Henry was no less puzzled, but infinitely more disturbed, by this display.

"No, I don't know," Henry said. "And I don't want to know. So if we could just go back to focusing on Mr Lincoln here…"

"Well, I might not be a pimp like you, Doc, but I'm fairly sure that the sepsis had something to do with the cause of death," Lucas said, pointing to Mr Lincoln's cellulitic leg.

"Excuse me?" Henry said, taken aback.

"You know – a pimp. Being all fly with the ladies."

Lucas winked.

"Some days, I swear you are not speaking English," Henry said.

"And some days I swear you are not from this century," Lucas countered. "Come on, Henry. Work with me! Tell me about this lady who got you kicked off the case."

"I will not," Henry said. "Now, if you please, let's get back to the task at hand."

Just then, the phone rang.

"Gimme a sec," Lucas said, jogging over to where the phone sat on the desk. "Hello, Medical Examiner's office… Oh, hi Detective Hanson… There's been another body found?.. Okay, I'll just grab Doctor Morgan… What?.. No Doctor Morgan. Just me?.. Oh. And Doctor Washington. Okay, where?.. Okay… Okay… See you soon… Buh-bye."

"There's been another murder?" Henry asked, a sinking feeling settling in his chest.

"Yeah, another floater," Lucas said. "You really must be in the dog house, if they don't want you there."

"It's fine, Lucas," Henry said, the disappointment stinging. "Go and examine your body. I'm sure you'll find it infinitely more interesting than assisting me with Mr Lincoln's autopsy."

"I'm not going to find working with Doctor Washington again more fun," Lucas admitted. "Seriously, Henry, just go apologise to Detective Martinez so you can get back on the case. It's always more fun with you around."

_If only it were that simple_, Henry thought.

Jo, Mike and Luke stood around their latest victim, waiting for Doctor Washington to make his initial assessment. For a man that seemed to be in such a rush to close cases, he did take his sweet time about things. Jo couldn't help but think it was lucky that he couldn't pass this particular victim off as an accidental death, as he had their last case they worked together. The hand marks wrapped firmly around her neck and multiple bruises to the rest of her body made sure of that.

"Preliminary cause of death is by strangulation," he proclaimed, as if that would come as a surprise to the two homicide detectives and SVU detective standing around the corpse.

"Thanks for that, Doc," Mike said. "But we were hoping for something a little more useful, like when she died."

Doctor Washington looked at Hanson over his glasses, unimpressed.

"Patience, Detective Hanson," he said. "We will find that out when we get her back to the lab to take her liver temperature."

"Wouldn't that be more accurate if you took it now?" he asked. "Henry…"

"Well, given that Doctor Morgan was taken off this case for having inappropriate relations with assault victims, I dare say we can take his opinions with a grain of salt," Doctor Washington interrupted. "This is my case now, Detective Hanson, and we shall do things my way."

"If you like, Doctor Washington, I can take the liver temp," Lucas offered.

"…Who are you, again?" he asked.

"Seriously?" Lucas said. "Again? How many car trips is it going to take for you to learn my name?"

"As many as it takes for you to demonstrate your importance," he replied, "which up to this point, seems to be extremely lacking. I shall do the liver temperature – once we get back to the lab."

"I miss Henry already," Luke said, deliberately audible.

"He did it to himself," Jo pointed out bitterly.

"I know," Luke said. "And I agree. But this is our third body now, Jo. We need to start making breaks in this case, and somehow I doubt that Doctor Stuffy over there will be as interested as Henry was with finding our killer."

"You – there. Pack the body and send it to the lab," Doctor Washington dictated to Lucas. "We shall begin the autopsy after I have lunch."

"See what I mean?" Luke said.

Sadly, they all did.


	15. Chapter 15

Henry paced around the morgue, feeling lost. Since Jo had discovered Claire at his house and had taken it completely the wrong way, it just felt that he was destined to lose everything. First it had been the River Stranglings case and the company it brought with it, and now he had lost Lucas, who had been recruited to assist Doctor Washington in investigating what should have remained his case. Not that he could blame Jo for taking him off the case. If he had, in fact, been romantically involved with Claire, then it would have been inappropriate for him to continue investigating. One could argue that the relationship they did have – although unconventional – probably put him far enough into the same category that the outcome should probably be the same. It was just hard to think that when you were stranded in a morgue on your own, knowing that everyone else was doing important work and you weren't.

"Knock knock."

Henry turned around and saw Claire sticking her head through the door. She gave him a nervous smile.

"Is it okay if I come in?" she asked.

"Claire," Henry said. "Why, yes. Of course. Come in."

"It's quite an office you have here," she said.

She walked towards him, hands held behind her back.

"Courtesy of the State of New York," he replied.

She paused and looked around for a moment, before turning back to him.

"You do realise it's a bit strange, you know?" she said. "An immortal in a morgue."

"It made sense," he explained. "For a man that cannot die, the opportunity to study how to is invaluable."

"So you do want to die," she said.

"Nobody _wants_ to die, Claire," Henry said sadly. "I just want the same opportunity everyone else has, to go through the stages of life and move on. I'm not going to lie to you and say that living forever is a wonderful thing."

"I'm glad," she admitted. She took a seat by his desk. "Here I was, beginning to think it was just me. And I've barely been immortal a month, let alone two hundred years."

Henry was glad to see a cheeky smile cross Claire's face. It was the first he'd had a chance to see, since he proved her immortality.

"As nice as it is to see you, Claire, I was wondering what brings you here?" he asked.

"Is it weird to say that I'm here cause I want some normality?" she asked. "It just feels like everything has changed since finding out. All day at work it felt like I was pretending to be something I'm not anymore. I just wanted a chance not to have to pretend."

"That's fair enough," Henry said. "I understand the feeling. Some days I still get that feeling like I'm putting on a show. I am lucky enough that I have Abe to ground me. If you want, I can be that for you, too."

She smiled.

"Thanks."

"So would you like to get some lunch?" Henry asked. "I'm not exactly doing a lot here right now."

"I'd love to."

Henry stood and put his scarf on.

"So where would you like to go?" he asked.

"Nowhere too romantic," she joked. "I've learned my lesson after the other night. I shall remain entirely hands off. After all, you're old enough to be my great, great…"

"Yes, yes. Very funny," he said, walking towards the door.

"No, wait. I can work this out," she said. "You're old enough to be my great, great, great, great…"

Jo was dumbfounded.

"Strangulation. That's all you got?"

"Well, that is the cause of death, Detective," Doctor Washington said. "I'm not sure what else you want."

"What about all the bruising?" Jo asked. "Wasn't that worth a mention?"

"Not life threatening," he replied. "Not related to the cause of death."

"Not related?" Jo repeated, as if testing the words to make sure they were real. "You're saying the fact that she was beaten before she was murdered isn't significant?"

"The significance of that event is for you to determine, Detective," he droned. "My job is purely to determine the manner of this woman's demise."

Jo was finding it difficult to stop herself from climbing over her victim's body to strangle Doctor Washington. She'd known that in the past he had a fairly relaxed investigative style, but she had thought that was due to his concern with closing cases quickly so it wouldn't delay his next round of golf. She had hoped that when he was faced with an obvious murder, he would be more interested in helping her solve it. She was disappointed to find that wasn't the case.

"So you have nothing to help me find out who she is, or where she was murdered?" Jo asked.

"I thought investigating was your job, Detective," he said.

She swore, if he called her Detective one more time…

She took a deep breath in, and then out.

"If you have any other findings, can you please outline them in your report," Jo said. "I want it on my desk by the morning."

"I think you will find it is already there," he said, waving her away.

Of all the pigheaded, inconsiderate…

"Detective Martinez."

Jo was surprised to find Lucas had peeled himself from the wall in the corner of the morgue - where he had remained conspicuously quiet during Jo's discussion with Doctor Washington - to make his way to her side.

She sighed.

"Yes, Lucas?"

"I hope you don't mind, but I may have collected some information from our Jane Doe while Doctor Washington wasn't looking that you may find interesting."

"Oh, thank God," she said. "What is it?"

"Now, I'm not as good as Henry," he couched, "but I have been trying to improve my deductive skills…"

"Spit it out, Lucas," she said, her temper shortened by her encounter with her replacement ME.

"Our Jane Doe works in a hospital," he said.

She blinked.

"Okay…" she said. "Why do you think that?"

"She had trace amounts of chlorhexidine residue under her finger nails. It looks like it came from a hospital-grade sponge, like those you use when scrubbing for surgery," he said. "She's also up-to-date with her vaccinations – like, all of them. She has either travelled to a third world country, or she works in an environment that mandates having them, like a hospital."

She was impressed.

"Good job, Lucas," she said. "That actually makes sense."

It made even more sense, when you considered it gave yet another victim a link to the health system. Henry's theory about the murderer being a patient just seemed to get more and more likely.

"Really?" he said, his need for approval weighed deeply in his voice. "If you've got time, I also have some theories regarding the identity of Doctor Morgan's new lady love."

Jo felt her heart sink.

"I already know the identity of Henry's new lady love," she replied, a bitter taste in her mouth. "I'm the one who took him off the case, remember?"

"So it's someone who has to do with this case…"

"Lucas," she snapped. "Focus. Now, unless you have something else to tell me about this case, I'm going to go see if I can find out the identity of our Jane Doe."

David was already sitting down for coffee when Luke and Jo arrived. Although to describe his activity as sitting was generous. He fidgeted restlessly, filled with a nervous energy that made Jo wonder just what number cup of coffee he was on for the day.

"David," Luke greeted, reaching out to slap his brother-in-law on the shoulder before sitting down. "What's the good news?"

"What? Not even a how are you?" he asked. "It's straight to 'what can you do for me'? Jeesh. No wonder Vicky left you."

Luke sighed.

"Fine. How are you?" Luke said.

"Great," David replied, leaning forward. "You know why? I think I've found your guy."

"Really?" Jo asked.

He nodded.

"And I tell you what, it was a Hell of a challenge," he said. "It's not like medical records are made for this kind of thing. I had to start off searching the records of each department to identify which of their patients likely had clubbing. Then I had to narrow it down to those who would require specialist input at the Yeoman's Centre, then I…"

"David," Luke interrupted. "Who is it?"

"Robert Underwood," he said. "His name is Robert Underwood."

"Why do you think Mr Underwood is our guy?" Jo asked.

She was trying to be professionally detached about the situation. Inside, though, she could feel the excitement growing. They finally had a potential suspect.

"Forty-one year old man. New York native. Diagnosed with lung cancer two and a half years ago," he explained. "Underwent chemo and radiotherapy. Documented clubbing. Recently diagnosed with metastatic cancer."

"Doesn't he sound a little bit too sick?" Luke said. "Like, this is a guy who goes around strangling young women to death. From the way you describe it, this guy is dying."

"Oh, he is dying," David agreed. "But this guy is your guy. His oncologist is based here, but his respiratory physiologist has private rooms over in the Yeoman's Centre. And he even had an appointment here the day Claire was attacked."

"Wait – you know Claire Gage?" Jo asked.

"Yeah. We work in ED together," he said. "This is her case, isn't it?"

Luke swore. Jo remained slightly more composed, and did it internally. Luke's source had a pre-existing relationship with Claire Gage. Once again, Claire's relationship with men was interfering with the investigation into her own assault.

"What does it matter?" David said, when they both remained quiet. "It's not like I was doing this on the books, anyway."

"It matters cause now you have a vested interest," Luke explained. "It means you have a reason for wanting the case solved, and that's gonna reduce your impartiality when investigating."

"So you're not going to take my tip?" he asked. "Just because I happen to know someone who is involved in the case."

"We're not saying that," Jo said. "It's just that in a case with as limited resources as ours, we need to decide if certain avenues are worth our while investigating. You coming up with a dying man's name twenty-four hours after starting looking with nothing more than he's got clubbed fingers doesn't really count."

"But it's him," David insisted. "I know it's him."

"I know you think that, buddy," Luke said. "But investigating crime ain't as easy as just having a feeling in your gut."

"So why did you bother asking me at all?" David wondered.

"Cause it was worth a shot," he admitted. "We're getting desperate here."

"Then go look at Robert Underwood," he insisted.

"We'll think about it, okay?" Luke snapped.

"Maybe you can help us with something else," Jo said, wanting to break the growing tension between the two men. "We found another victim. Our assistant medical examiner tells us that she likely works in a hospital. I know it's a long shot, but would you mind taking a look at her picture?"

Jo handed over the photo of their Jane Doe, and watched as the colour drained from David's face.

"That's Holly," he said. He looked up at Jo with wide eyes. "Holly Carpenter."

"And who is Miss Carpenter?" she asked.

"Scrub sister in theatre," he said. "She works on the trauma team. She comes down to ED occasionally."

He rubbed a hand across his ashen face.

"You have to catch this son of a bitch," David said.

"We intend to," Jo promised.

"Just look at Robert Underwood," he said. "Look – I know you think I'm looking for a quick fix, but I'm not. He did this."

He pushed the photo away.

"We will have a look," Luke said.

David had known his brother-in-law long enough to know when he was lying.

Jo and Luke made their goodbyes, and left David sitting there, deliberating over a cup of coffee. They may have been dismissive of him, but David knew in his gut that Robert Underwood was responsible. He had hurt Claire. He had murdered Holly. And he was going to get away with it unless somebody stopped him.

Even if that somebody had to be David.

David felt his resolve form, as he stood from his table and headed back to work. Someone would have to avenge Holly's death. And somebody would.


	16. Chapter 16

It should have turned out to be a rather pleasant afternoon.

Good food, better wine and Henry's favourite table at his favourite sidewalk café. And then there was the stimulating conversation he was having with Claire. At least, it was stimulating on her behalf.

Claire had spent their lunch date trying to get to know Henry, and for him to get to know her. It had seemed like the sensible thing to do, considering he was the only person guaranteed to potentially be in her life a hundred years from now. She had told him about her childhood growing up in Vancouver, the South American electives she went on during medical school, and the trials of internship and moving to New York to further her training in Emergency Medicine. But for a man known for his attention to detail, he seemed firmly disinterested in what she was saying. He picked at his food and barely touched his wine, and she could have sworn he spent more time looking at the bush she sat next to rather than at Claire herself. She was beginning to take it personally.

"I can't help but notice how quiet you're being," Claire finally pointed out, after yet another lull in the conversation.

Henry turned to focus his attention on her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Look, if you didn't want to have lunch with me, you should have just said," Claire told him. "Trust me - I understand how weird this is. I…"

"It's not that," Henry interrupted. He sighed, leaning back into his chair. "I'm sorry I have been a bit distracted. It's just that being taken off the case – your case – does not sit well with me."

"This is about my murder?" Claire asked.

It was surprising how normal that sentence was starting to feel.

"And the murder of three other women," he pointed out. "Claire, I have spent the last decade of my life working as a medical examiner here in New York. I have spent the majority of this year actively participating in solving crimes with Detective Martinez. I just worry that if I am not around to help her, then this case might go unsolved. That the man that hurt you – that hurt those other women – might go unpunished."

"Henry, just because you're not officially on the case, doesn't mean you have to stop trying to solve it," Claire said. "After all, you've got one advantage the police don't have – me."

"You would be interested in that?" he asked.

"The man murdered me, Henry," she said seriously. "Of course I want him caught and punished. The best thing is, he can't do anything worse to me."

"You _can_ still die, Claire," he said. "You just get luxury of returning afterwards."

"Henry – it was a joke," she said. "Trust me, I don't want that psycho anywhere near me. I am in no rush to die again. So what do you think?"

A smile broke out across Henry's face.

"I think it is about time we caught ourselves a killer."

Henry returned to the morgue feeling like a new man with a new purpose. He had forgotten what this felt like – to be investigating outside of Jo's close watch. As much as he enjoyed working with Jo these days, there was somewhat of a thrill as to be working outside of the system. A type of freedom.

Lucas did not look as excited as Henry felt when he arrived back at the morgue. He sat at his desk, arms folded firmly across his chest with a distinctly morose expression on his face. Evidently, working with Doctor Washington was not sitting well with him.

"Lucas," Henry greeted, as he walked over to where his assistant sat. "How goes the case?"

Lucas sighed.

"Terrible," he replied. "Washington has already decided that he's done with investigating it. He hasn't even looked in to any of the trace evidence. He says it's irrelevant."

Lucas made a face.

"What sort of trace evidence?" Henry asked, trying to sound not too interested.

"Oh, just like some paint caught in a graze on the vic's leg," he said. "He just said 'Send it to forensics. They'll deal with it'."

"How shocking," Henry said. "Did he at least help with the ID?"

"No. But I did," he said. "You'll like this one, Doc. I noticed that the victim had a lot of chlorhexidine residue under her fingers, and is fully immunised, and I deduced…"

He winked at him.

"…That she works in the medical profession," Henry said, stealing Lucas' thunder.

"Well, yeah. But I wanted to say…"

"Well done, Lucas," Henry said. "That is impressive work."

Lucas was dumbfounded.

"It is?"

"Yes, of course," Henry replied. "I am happy there is at least one person in this department who is interested in finding out the truth behind this case. Keep up the good work."

Lucas was chuffed.

"Thanks, Doc," he said. "I have been trying to learn from your example. You know, expand my mind and all that. Think outside the square."

"And you are doing an admirable job," he replied. "And I am aware that working with Doctor Washington can prove to be a bit… difficult," he said, trying to be diplomatic. "If you ever need to vent, just come and talk to me. So did the police manage to identify the victim with your information?"

Lucas nodded.

"They sure did. Holly Carpenter – a nurse at Mercy General. Boo-ya!"

He held up a fist for Henry to bump, but quickly let it fall.

"Well done, Lucas," Henry said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have bodies waiting for me."

"Do you need any help…"

"Oh, no. I'm fine. I think you're skills are needed more on your own case," he said. "Good luck, Lucas."

What should you do, when the wrong thing seems like the right thing to do?

David felt himself thinking on this paradox, while he tried to get through the rest of his shift at work. Holly was dead – murdered by a man that David believed he knew the identity to – but the police were ignoring his lead. A lead that David had already had to cross moral and professional boundaries to get for them.

It wasn't right. How could a young woman die, and someone refuse to turn over every possible rock they could to hunt for her killer? Regardless of how valid they thought the tip was, they should still look into it.

David still couldn't believe that Holly was dead. It still had that sense of unrealness you get when someone you knows dies, when you try to accept that you're never going to see them again. He didn't know Holly that well, but her loss still affected him. It was only worse that he couldn't share his grief yet. The police had only just discovered her identity, thanks to David. He had to give them the time to inform her loved ones. The news would eventually spread through the department, but until then, David would have to maintain his professional face and get on with work.

David spotted Claire further down the corridor, talking to one of the nurses. Her chocolate brown hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, and her cheeks were dimpled with the smile currently gracing her face. She was so full of life just then. David was beginning to realise just how lucky she was to be so.

The same man that had killed Holly had attempted to kill Claire. It was only by sheer dumb luck that she stood there now. Other women would continue to die if no one confronted their killer – someone who David thought he knew the identity of.

"David," Claire greeted, when he walked past.

She blushed slightly as the memory of their last encounter flashed through her mind.

"Claire," he replied.

He watched as her brows furrowed. It wasn't like David not to be cheery.

"David, what's wrong?" she asked, the concern real in her voice.

He shook his head.

"I can't tell you," he admitted.

"David, if this is about…"

"No, it's not," he interrupted. "It is about your case, though."

Claire paled.

"What about my case?" she asked.

David looked up and down the corridor.

"Not here," he said. "Can we talk in private?"

Claire nodded, and followed David into the staff room. They were lucky to find it empty.

"David, what is this about my case?" she asked.

"Claire, my brother-in-law is one of the Detectives working your case," he admitted. "He asked if I could help identify one of the other victims. It's Holly Carpenter."

"Oh my God," she said.

She lifted a hand to cover her mouth for a moment, as she allowed it to sink in.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"How can I be okay?" he said. "A friend of mine is dead. And all I can think about is that it could have been you. What would I have done if it was you, Claire?"

He reached out to place a hand on the side of her face. Claire placed her own on top of his.

"I'm fine, David," she comforted. "See? I'm still here. I'm still me. Nothing is going to happen to me."

"But it could have," he said.

"We can't live our lives focusing on what could have happened, David," she said. "How would we get anything done, if we were forever second-guessing the past?"

He smiled.

"You're right. I guess we should start focusing on getting what we want in the future."

He leaned in and kissed her, using the hand already on Claire's face to pull her closer. Her body pressed against his chest, and she was surprised by how muscular he felt under his scrubs. She sighed as heat rushed through her body, her breath warming his lips that still moved with hers. In that moment, it just all felt so right. He was just a boy, and she was just a girl, and they were in love.

But Claire couldn't be in love.

"David, wait," she said, gently pushing him away. "I can't."

"Is it me?" he asked.

"No!" she replied, gripping his scrubs in her fists. "No. It's just… It's a bad time for me."

She lifted her eyes to meet his. Like always, they were the bluest of blue shade that always made David's heart race when he saw them.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just didn't want to live my life with any more regrets over things that I wish I had done."

Claire grinned in spite of herself.

"How long have you been wanting to kiss me?" she asked.

"Oh… for a while."

He laughed.

David lifted a hand to brush Claire's face.

"How long have you wanted to kiss me?" he asked.

"Oh… for a while," she mimicked.

"Then why not, Claire?" he asked. "I felt it. I know you feel it too. Why are you holding back?"

_Because I'm immortal_, Claire thought. _Because one day you will die, and I shall not._

She replied with something far more plausible.

"My life is just a bit complicated right now," she said. "I can't get into a relationship now. It's not the right time."

David just nodded, taking a step back.

"Fine," he said. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

If only it were that simple.

Claire watched David leave, and it felt like he was taking a little piece of her with him. She lifted a hand to place over where she felt the pain in her heart. This was the burden of being an immortal. The lies. The isolation. She wanted none of it. But the loneliness was better than the alternative. Claire feared loss more than she feared an eternity alone.

So why did the thought of remaining alone right now have to hurt so bad?


	17. Chapter 17

David looked at his watch as he loitered outside of the Department of Oncology. It was nearing nine o'clock. He tapped his foot impatiently as he watched random people walk past.

_No, not them. No, not them either. Wait…_

A man had just entered the hall, and was walking towards him. A man about 5'8 or 5'9 tall. The grey hairs mixed amongst his dirty blonde were picked out by the fluorescent lighting overhead that gave an almost sickly yellow sheen to his skin. He wore an oversized checked shirt, buttoned to his wrists. It had probably fit at one point, but cancer tended to do that to people. The weight never stayed where you wanted it to. That being said, he wasn't horrifically skinny – he was obviously just skinnier than he had been.

_This could be him. This could be Robert Underwood_, David thought.

He had checked, and he had an appointment with his oncologist this morning at nine am. It was the reason why David was staking out the hallway this morning. David watched as the man walked into the oncology office, before following him to the edge of the door to listen in on the conversation.

"Hi, I'm Robert Underwood," the man told the receptionist. "I'm here for my 9am appointment with Dr Teo."

"Of course, Mr Underwood. Just sign this form and you can take a seat."

It was him. It was really him. The man that could have killed three people and hurt Claire. He didn't look too bad for a man with a terminal cancer diagnosis. It wasn't impossible for him to be a murderer.

David hadn't seen his fingers. Yes, he'd noted the jaundice – probably from liver metastases – but he hadn't checked to see if he had clubbed fingers. That was the only piece of evidence that David had to instantly disprove his guilt. The man that had murdered those women had clubbed fingers. If he didn't have them, then David was obviously wrong and should be looking for someone else.

David walked into the room and straight up to the desk.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Harper," he said to the secretary. "I was wondering if you guys had the records for Mr Jones? It's just I've been to medical records, and they told me they were up here."

"First name?" she asked.

"Peter," David bluffed.

"I'll be right back, I'll just go check," she said, getting up from her desk and walking towards the room where they kept patient notes.

David turned around to lean against the desk. Mr Underwood sat in one of the chairs against the wall, reading a magazine. David tried not to be too obvious while looking at his fingers.

They were clubbed.

"What are you looking at?" Mr Underwood snapped.

"I was just looking at the car on the cover," David lied – he thought, smoothly. "Is that a Corvette?"

Mr Underwood turned the magazine around to check.

"Yeah, I guess it is," he said.

"Great car," David continued.

He quickly looked away.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Harper," the secretary said when she came back. "I couldn't find the notes for a Peter Jones. We have a Paul Jones."

David sighed dramatically.

"That's okay. You know those darned people in medical records. They wouldn't know where they left their head if it wasn't screwed on. I'll have to go check with them again. Thanks for your help."

"No problem," she said.

David turned and left the office, his heart thudding as his footsteps were as he made his way back towards ED.

"_I'm sorry. I know you've been through this a million times, but can you tell me what happened to you_?"

"I was walking home from work…"

"…the pharmacist…"

"…the gym…"

"…when I was suddenly grabbed from behind."

"This guy pressed something against my throat."

"I think it was a knife."

"It was definitely a knife."

"…and told me to go with him."

"We ended up at his car…"

"…and he forced me to get in."

"He said if I did what he wanted, that he wouldn't hurt me."

"He said that he wouldn't hurt me."

"So I did what he asked…"

"…and then he raped me."

"_Could you tell me what this man looked like_?"

"White."

"Tall."

"Kind of average height."

"Not fat."

"Average weight, too."

"Kinda slim. You know, but not that skinny."

"_Eye colour_?"

"Green."

"Grey."

"Blue."

"I don't know. It was dark."

"_How about hair_?"

"Short."

"Average length."

"Fair."

"Blonde…"

"…maybe with some grey…"

"…a very pale brown."

"He was bald."

Luke and Jo turned to look at each other. In all of the interviews that they had with the rape victims linked to the river strangling murders, all descriptions – as non-descript as they were – seemed to be variations on a theme. Caucasian male of average height and average weight with short/average length fair hair. This was the first time they had a major variation in description.

This was from Felicity Johnson – the first rape victim. Her attack was approaching seven months ago, while on her way home from the gym. She had been attending the gym for hydrotherapy following her knee reconstruction surgery.

"I'm sorry," Jo said. "Did you say he was bald?"

"Yeah," she said. "But not normal bald, you know? He had all this thin, whispy, white hair."

She made a circle around her head like a halo.

Luke turned to face Jo.

"Chemo," he said.

"Like you get for lung cancer," she concurred.

Luke rubbed his forehead.

"David was right. We should be looking at this Mr Underwood," he said."

"Thank you very much for your help, Felicity," Jo said, standing. "We'll let you know if there are any developments."

Claire wondered how David could make chewing a pen seem so sexy. She couldn't help but find the way that he chewed it somewhat arousing, as he sat at the nurses' station, staring intently at the computer monitor. Maybe it was just that watching David's lips move like that reminded her of when he kissed her. Just thinking about it made a thrill run through her body.

There had never been a worse time in Claire's life to have an unrequited crush. She had just discovered that she was immortal and that no one else was – something that was strangely isolating and yet made you crave human interaction at the same time. She was desperate for human contact, and yet she was terrified of it at the same time. It would have been so easy to fall in love with David – and she wasn't entirely sure that she hadn't already – but she didn't know if she could make that type of commitment to someone, knowing that someday they were doomed to age and die while she remained young forever. She didn't know if she'd ever be ready to face that pain.

Claire thought of Henry, and how he said that no one deserved to spend an eternity alone. She didn't know if he was right or not, and she didn't know if she'd manage it forever, but she was willing to keep her distance for now.

But then again, Claire had never been very good at listening to logic. Even when it was her own.

"Hey," Claire said, walking over to where David sat. "How's it going?"

David looked up at Claire. His brows were furrowed, and there was a distance in his eyes that was unfamiliar to Claire. He looked so serious. David never looked serious. It was obvious something was on his mind.

"Oh. Hey, Claire," he said, trying to feign a relaxed expression.

It wasn't working.

"I'm fine. How're you?" he asked.

"Liar," Claire said, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to him. "You look like Hell. What's up?"

David bit his bottom lip.

"Just personal stuff," he said. "Just trying to follow up on a favour my brother-in-law asked me."

"Oh," she said. "That bad, huh?"

David shrugged.

"He and my sister are going through a messy divorce," he said. "Kind of her fault. She cheated on him. Kind of hard to know where your loyalties lie."

Claire nodded understandingly. David felt a bit guilty for lying to her – not that it really was a lie, but it wasn't the actual truth, either. But it wasn't like he could tell her that he had been stalking the person who he believed assaulted her.

"I guess you just have to do what's right for you," she said. "It's hard not to get weighed down by other people's issues."

"That's true."

Everything went quiet for a moment, as Claire and David stared at each other. Claire couldn't help but feel the way she always had when looking at David – like somehow he made the world okay. With him looking so sad, she wanted to be the one to make the world okay for him, too. Even if that only was for today.

"Look, David – our shift is almost over," Claire said. "Would you like to go out for a drink?"

He looked surprised.

"Really?" he asked.

"No, I was just asking so I could turn you down," she said, sarcastically. "Seriously, though. Do you want to go out for a drink with me?"

"But I thought you were not ready for that type of commitment right now," he said.

"I'm asking you out for a drink, David. Not for your hand in marriage," she said. "Don't make me change my mind."

David smiled – a genuinely happy smile.

"I'd love to go out for a drink with you," he said.

Claire smiled back.

"Great. I'll see you in an hour."

Robert paced backwards and forwards outside of the hospital, unsure of what to do.

He'd been there for a while now, just pacing. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Like a strange metaphor for his life – a lot of movement, but going absolutely nowhere.

He didn't know why he bothered to keep seeing his doctors. All they ever had for him was bad news. That the cancer had spread. That his liver function tests were abnormal. That his kidneys weren't working as well as they should. And now they were saying they had found more of that cancer – this time in his head. At some point, not too far from now, they predicted he would start to have seizures. Death wouldn't have far to follow.

It seemed like it was going to be a race to see what killed him – his lungs, his liver, his kidneys or his brain. Even though his lungs had got the party started, they seemed content with letting the others finish off the job. The worst part was that he couldn't even decide which way he would prefer to go.

Maybe that was why he was pacing. It didn't really matter where he went, because he would never get anywhere. He had lost control of the direction of his life. He was just along for the trip now.

At least, he was in most things.

Robert shut his eyes, and he could see them now. The women he had murdered. None of them were entirely similar to the other, and yet they all had that same look when they died. That look of fear and desperation, as they pawed at his hands, hoping against hope that he would let go. In that one situation, he had the power. He got to decide who lived and who died. It was a shame that he couldn't exert that control in other areas of his life.

Two people walked out of the front entrance of the hospital just then – a man and a woman. They walked arm in arm past him, the woman's dark brown locks bouncing as she walked along. She turned to look back at the hospital for a moment, and Robert saw her face.

It was her.

It was the first woman he had killed.

Robert couldn't believe it, but it was actually her. He would never forget that face – the piercing blue eyes set against rosy cheeks, her face flushed as she struggled for air and failed. He remembered shoving her into the boot of his car, and dumping her in the river. She had been stone cold when they had arrived.

And dead. Obviously dead.

So how could she be here?

Robert found himself following the couple. He had to find out where they were going. They were getting closer to the parking garage where he had parked his car – a different car than he had used to dispose of her body. They stopped to cross the road, and Robert noticed the man's face. It was that doctor from that morning. The one who was interested in his magazine.

Robert froze.

He knew. That son-of-a-bitch knew who he was when he walked into the oncology office that morning. He must have been in some sort of conspiracy with the woman who was meant to be dead. He must have been looking for him.

Robert knew what he had to do. He had to eliminate the threat to his safety – and he had to find out how the woman was not dead. He sped up his pace to catch up with the couple. It wasn't that far to the parking garage now. Robert couldn't believe his luck when they actually walked in to it. They must have a car of their own in there. He shuffled through his jacket, and pulled out his pocket knife. He didn't even need to look at it to flick the blade out.

Not far now… Not far now…

Robert grabbed the man from behind, reached around and slit his throat. Bright red blood sprayed forth, splattering the wall beside them. His knees buckled beneath him, and he fell forwards.

The woman shrieked.

Robert lunged at her, and she struggled.

"David!" she screamed. "David!"

He wrenched her back, panting. This was getting so much harder than it was before. His energy was starting to wane. She kept struggling against his grasp. She kept trying to get to David. Robert pulled her back one more time, and she impacted her head against the wall. She went down, and stayed down.

Robert leant down and felt her pulse. It still thudded strongly in her neck. He stood up and looked around, but no one had come in response to her shrieking. The man she had been walking with – David – lay motionless in a pool of his own blood.

Robert realised where he was – his car was only a couple spots away. It was almost like it was meant to be. Robert grabbed the woman by her armpits, and dragged her towards his car. Her shoe snagged and came off, as he loaded her into the boot. It was almost like déjà vu for him – except this time she was alive. He used a spare cable tie in his boot to tie her hands, before shutting it.

He would get to the bottom of how she managed to be alive when she should be dead. Even if he had to kill her again to find out.

**Author's Note: **_Oh, it's all starting to happen now!_

_Just wanted to say thanks for all the love I'm getting for this fic - I'm glad you like it! And I'm glad you were all willing to hold off on judging it as a Mary Sue until after reading it. I know OCs in fan fic can be a bit... you know._

_Sorry it's taken me so long to update. Work's been busy and I haven't had the time to write. Hopefully I can be a bit more consistent with my writing between now and when it's over, which shouldn't be that long now. Hopefully we'll get to see a bit more of Henry and Jo in the next few chapters. I'm beginning to miss that dynamic._

_Hope you all keep reading!_


	18. Chapter 18

It was a familiar scene when Henry arrived at the crime scene.

The uniformed officers, cordoning the area off. Your usual collection of bystanders, trying to catch a glimpse of the excitement. Crime scene techs with their little yellow flags, walking around and depositing them around the scene. And of course, there was the body. This time lying face down inside a parking garage in a pool of his own blood. Detective Hanson stood beside him, looking-but-not-looking at him, as he waited for Henry to arrive.

The only thing it was missing was Jo.

Henry knew he should have been happy to have been called out to a murder. He hated the fact that he had been taken off the river strangling case, and was desperate to get out in the field again. A fresh murder should have been just the thing to cheer him up, but it just wasn't the same without Jo. In the days that he had been off the case, he had grown to miss her terribly. Not only her presence at work, but the time they had spent together afterwards. It had been a long time since Henry had had a friend, and he hated to think that he could have ruined such an important friendship through a misunderstanding. And yet it was a misunderstanding he would never be able to correct, because the truth of the matter would be far more devastating to their friendship than the lie was. He could only hope Jo could forgive him with time, but given the radio silence of the intervening days, it was beginning to look unlikely.

Henry chastised himself – he should be focusing on the deceased right now. He tried to put Jo out of his mind, and walked towards Detective Hanson.

"Detective Hanson," Henry greeted.

"Hey, Doc. It's about time you got here," Mike said. "We've got ourselves a fresh one. David Harper. He's a doctor over at Mercy General. Someone slashed his throat."

"I can see that, Detective," Henry said, kneeling down by the body. "Young man, aged somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Single knife wound to the anterior neck, incising both the trachea and the left internal carotid artery. It appears that the right was spared by the arc of travel of the blade."

Henry repositioned himself.

"There is no frothing over the tracheal incision. It's likely this poor man bled out within a matter of seconds."

"So an expert, then, Doc?" Hanson asked.

Henry shook his head.

"Hardly. Just lucky. It appears he was grabbed from behind when he had his throat slit. Obviously was not grabbed by the head – that would have extended his neck backwards, which would have granted him some protection. That probably means the killer was slightly shorter than our victim."

Henry looked at his length.

"My, he is a tall boy, this one," Henry said. "What do you think, Detective? 6'3 or 6'4?"

"Something like that," he replied.

Something caught Henry's eye. He leaned around Detective Hanson to get a better look.

"What's the matter, Doc?" Hanson asked.

Henry ignored him as he got up, and wandered over to an adjacent car. He knelt down to look underneath.

"Detective, there's a sneaker under here," Henry said.

"So?" he asked.

Henry pulled on a glove, and picked it up to show him.

"It's got blood spray on it, Detective," he said. "Whoever owns this shoe was here when Doctor Harper was murdered."

"Could it be from the murderer?" he asked.

"I doubt that," he replied. "This is a women's shoe, Detective. Even though our murderer was shorter than our victim, he was definitely taller than the woman who owned this…"

Henry froze.

He had seen this shoe before. They were the one thing Claire had removed before Henry had stopped her heart that one time.

_"__I've already lost one pair of nice shoes recently," _she had said. _"I don't want to risk losing another."_

"Detective, you have to call Jo. Now," Henry said, standing.

"Henry, you know that she's still working the river strangling case," he said. "I know I'm hardly your favourite detective, but you're stuck with me…"

"You don't understand, Detective," Henry said. "I know who this shoe belongs to. It belongs to Doctor Claire Gage. She was one of the river strangling victims."

The first thing that Henry did was call Abe and ask that he search the river for Claire and anywhere she might have chosen to hide. Abe volunteered gladly, and promised to call the precinct if he found anything. Henry couldn't believe it, but he was actually hoping Claire had been murdered again. At this point, it seemed the lesser of two evils. Better dead and free than alive and being held captive.

Or worse.

A quick check by Detective Hanson of the CCTV had shown that was not the case – at least not yet. The grainy security image showed the death of Dr Harper and Claire's subsequent abduction. Even though she had stopped moving when she had hit her head, Henry knew she was still alive at that point. She would have disappeared again, if she hadn't been.

"Mike! What the Hell happened?"

That was Detective McCoy, who was just walking into the precinct with Jo. Henry had never seen the department filled with so many people. With Claire's disappearance declared an abduction, it seemed like the Captain had called in everyone she had to help with the search.

"Yeah, I know, mate," Hanson said, walking over to meet Jo and his friend. "This whole situation is crazy."

Jo looked over at Henry, but was quick to look away.

"What do we know about the other victim?" Jo asked.

"David Harper – doctor at Mercy General," he said, opening a file to show them the crime scene photos. "Supposedly he worked with Doctor Gage. Hey, buddy. What's up?"

Luke had gone pale. He turned and lunged towards the bin, where he began to throw up. Jo forced the file shut, shoving it into Hanson's chest.

"Mike," she said. "That's Luke's brother-in-law."

Hanson swore.

Henry walked over and offered Luke a handkerchief.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Detective," he said.

"Don't hand me that, Doc," Luke said, pushing it away. "It's too nice. Who carries a hanky these days?"

"Henry's always been a bit of a traditionalist," Jo said, coming to put a hand on Luke's shoulder. "You better?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his mouth on the back of his hand. "It's just… You know? I've known the guy since he was a kid."

"If it makes you feel better, his death was very quick," Henry supplied. "Just a single slice to his carotid…"

"Henry!" Jo snapped. "Enough."

"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. That was insensitive."

"You think?" she asked.

"It's okay, Jo," Luke said, lifting a hand to place on Jo's. "He was trying to help."

He sighed and pushed himself from the floor.

"But this begs the question – who was the target and why?" Hanson asked, now it seemed like his friend had pulled himself together.

"It could have been both," Luke supplied. "I'd asked David to look into potential suspects for the river strangling cases off the books. He'd given us a name, but we didn't think it was credible at the time."

He shut his eyes for a moment, as the emotion threatened to overwhelm him.

"I wish we had listened to him now," he said.

"We weren't to know, Luke," Jo said.

"So who was the guy?" Hanson asked.

"Robert Underwood," Jo said. "A terminal lung cancer patient who was being treated at both Mercy General Hospital and the Yeoman's Centre."

"Lung cancer could lead to clubbing of the fingers," Henry agreed. "Depending on his degree of illness, he could have been a viable suspect."

"Thanks for that, Henry," Jo snapped. "That could have useful if you had been there when we talked to David, but you weren't. All because you decided to sleep with a victim."

"Who is now missing," Henry pointed out.

"Oh, God," she said, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had flared. "I'm sorry, Henry. I'm being insensitive."

"Well, that makes two of us now," he said. "So can we just put aside our differences for the moment and work on finding Claire?"

"Of course," she said.

"I'll put a BOLO for Robert Underwood," Hanson said, relieved that the tension had now broken. "See if we can find this guy."

"Thank you, Detective," Henry said.

Henry headed off down towards the morgue, intent on examining David Harper's body to see if he could find some clue to help find Claire. Abe still hadn't called him back, and it had been a couple hours. He was beginning to fear that she was still in her murderer's clutches.

"Henry – wait."

Henry turned around, to find Jo following down the corridor.

"Henry, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. What I said…"

"It's fine, Detective," he said. "Truly, water under the bridge."

"No, Henry. It's not," she replied. "I only said what I did because I was angry with you. It's not fair for me to do so, when someone you care about it missing."

"You know I didn't mean to hurt you, Jo," Henry said. "I am so sorry that I did."

"I don't own you, Henry," she said. "I had no right to get angry just because you finally found someone. I should be happy for you. I know how much Abigail hurt you in the past. It's good that you're moving on finally. I was just shocked that you chose one of our victims."

"But you're right, Jo," he said. "It was inappropriate. And if it means anything to you, Claire and I have not continued our relationship in that way. We are, however, friends."

"Why are you telling me this, Henry?" she asked.

"Because I need you to know," he said, taking a step closer. "Jo, you are the last person in the world that I want to disappoint. These past couple days without you have been killing me. The amount of times that I have wanted to call and apologise to you, I've lost count of. But every time I thought about it, I stopped myself. I wanted to give you space, seeming you quite rightly don't want to be near me right now."

"Trust me, Henry. That's the last thing I want," she said.

"Then why did you remove me from the case?"

"Because I'm a detective, Henry," she said. "I can't have you on a case when you're involved with a victim."

It was only partially the truth.

"But you're willing to have me on it now?" he asked.

"I need you, Henry," she said. "On the case, I mean. We have a kidnapped victim. We need this thing solved now."

He smiled at her.

"Then let's go solve a murder, Detective."


	19. Chapter 19

Claire was cold when she woke. Shivering, in fact. She opened her eyes, and could see the corrugated roof high above her head, metal beams crossing the ceiling.

_So not dead, then_, she thought. _No water means not dead. But what happened…_

Memories of the afternoon began to flash through her mind. Her asking David out. Them walking to the carpark to collect his car. And then… And then…

A strange noise – half sob, half gasp – escaped from Claire. She tried to lift a hand to mask the sound, but found she couldn't move her arm. She turned her head, and saw that she was tied down to whatever she was lying on. She attempted to move her legs, but they were restrained as well.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

Claire's head flung around to see where the voice was coming from. It was hard to see through the tears that stung her eyes. There was a man standing not too far from where she was. She blinked her eyes to clear them, and he slowly came into focus.

It was him.

It was the man that killed her.

He watched her as her mind made the connection, a smile coming to his face when it was obvious she had worked out who he was.

"It's nice to see you again, Claire," he said.

"How do you know who I am?" she snapped.

He pulled a hand from behind his back. He was holding her wallet.

"Hospital ID cards are useful things," he said. "I'm guessing you know who I am."

"You're a sick son-of-a-bitch, that's who you are," Claire said. "You killed David."

Just saying the word was more than she could bear. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"Is that the name of your spy?" he asked. "Well, then I guess I did. But you and I are well aware we share a much richer history than that incidental moment."

"Spy? What the Hell are you talking about?" she demanded.

"David should have been more careful when following me," he said, pointing his finger at Claire as he walked to the side of the table.

"Following you? He wasn't following you!" she snapped.

She struggled when he rested a hand on the side of her face.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked.

"Shhh…" he said. "You really are incredible, you know? The last time I was this close to you, you were dead."

"Not as dead as you thought," Claire lied. "People don't come back from the dead."

"Oh, Claire, I think we're past such deceptions," he crooned. "You were very much dead at the time of our first parting. I know you probably don't remember that much, but I do."

"Then kill me again and find out," she said.

_Please. Just kill me,_ she thought.

Claire didn't want to be here. Not with him. Not when David was… Death seemed her quickest way out.

"I'm not going to kill you, Claire," he said. "I want to learn from you. I want you to tell me how to come back from the dead."

"You can't come back from the dead," she insisted.

"You have," he said. "And you will teach me."

"Why do you want to know?" she begged. "Just so you have the opportunity of killing me over and over and over again?"

"Because I'm dying," he said. "And I am _very_ much not ready to die."

"Couldn't happen to a more deserving person," she spat. "I hope you die and rot in Hell."

"There's an easy way and a hard way to do this, Claire," he said. "Tell me your secret, or we'll have to forgo the easy way."

"There is no secret," she insisted. "You're just crazy."

He sighed.

"Fine, then. We'll do it your way."

Claire watched as he walked over to a nearby bench and picked up a knife. It was stained a reddy-brown – the colour of oxidised blood. It was the knife he'd used to kill David. He hadn't even bothered to wash it yet.

He came to stand beside where Claire was strapped to the table.

"Last chance to do this the easy way, Claire," he said.

"Go to Hell," she said.

He shook his head.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he said.

He took the knife, and sliced into Claire's arm.

She screamed.

"So what do we know about Robert Underwood?" Jo asked.

Jo, Mike, Luke, Lucas and Henry had gathered in the morgue, Luke studiously ignoring the body covered on the table behind them. Jo was quite honestly impressed by the fact that he had come. But it seemed that he was more concerned about finding out who killed his brother-in-law, than he was about being in the same room with his body.

"New York native, forty-one years old," Luke supplied. "Used to own a cabinetry company down in Brooklyn. Sold up after he was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer two and a bit years ago. Bit of a loner. Wife divorced him five years ago. She says she hasn't heard from him since."

"Where are we on canvassing his house and known associates?" Jo asked.

"Uniforms have been to the house – no one home," he said. "Supposedly the place was a mess. As far as we're aware, he doesn't have any close friends he'd go to."

"Family?" she asked.

"Parents dead. Has a sister he doesn't talk to who lives in Florida," Luke said. "Already called her. Hasn't talked to him in years. Wasn't even aware of the cancer diagnosis."

"So where has he gone?" she asked.

"Lucas and I have been looking at his medical records," Henry said. "The man has metastatic cancer, including cerebral metastases in his frontal and temporal lobes. It's unlikely that he is able to form any plan too complicated, so he's probably gone to a location of convenience rather than trying to hide himself."

"So you're saying he's just fruit loop from a brain tumour?" Hanson asked.

"I cannot exclude it's a contributing factor," Henry said. "But the man is still responsible for his actions. Many a man has died from brain cancer and have not gone around murdering innocent people."

"But you're saying it's likely that he's in a known location," Jo clarified.

Henry nodded.

"That's great," Luke said. "If only we knew where this bastard's known locations were."

"Everything we need will have already have been left at the crime scene," Henry said, walking over to the table where David's covered body lay. "He's left us blood, DNA and fingerprints before. This is not a man covering his trail. This may be due to some impairment from his brain tumours, or it could just be that he knows he's dying, and the threat of punishment is irrelevant. Lucas, can you please go through with me the trace evidence found at the Holly Carpenter scene?"

"Not a lot there," Lucas said. "Most of the trace evidence had been washed away by the river. There was just the antiseptic under the nails and that was about it."

"What about the bruising?" he asked. "Was it just with hands and feet this time?"

"Actually… Now that you mention it…" Lucas flicked through the file. "There was a contusion on the back of her head that had impacted a metal surface. There was silver metallic paint chips in it."

"Like from a car?" Jo asked.

"I'll ring the lab and ask," he said, running to the phone.

It only took a minute for him to come back.

"Paint fragment matches that from a 2010 silver Ford. Can't give me model. It's on a few."

"What car does he drive?" Jo asked.

"Beige 1997 Ford Laser," Mike said. "No… Wait. He reported that stolen the day of Claire Gage's abduction."

Luke swore.

"Has he bought anything since then?" Jo asked.

"If he has, he hasn't registered it yet," Luke said.

"What did you say Mr Underwood used to do for a living?" Henry asked.

"He made kitchen cabinets. Why?" Jo asked.

"Because the second murder victim, Sophie Hillcrest, had residue of wood glue on her dress," Henry said. "It was also noted on the shoes of the third rape victim, Pam Lee."

"I thought you said he sold his business," Hanson said, looking at Luke.

"I thought he did," he replied. "Underwood Cabinetry closed its doors two years ago after his diagnosis," he read from the file.

"But it never sold," Jo said, looking over his shoulder. "Building is still on the market."

"That might be where he's hiding Claire," Henry said.

Luke stood up.

"So what are we waiting for?" he asked. "Let's roll."

**Author's** **Note:**

Oh, it's getting so close to the end! Thanks for all the lovely comments so far. I really look forward to hearing what you think of the next few chapters!


	20. Chapter 20

Lights and sirens abounded as the squad of police cars headed over the bridge and into Brooklyn. Henry sat beside Jo in her cruiser, as she navigated the spider web of streets that took them into the heart of East Williamsburg, to where Underwood Cabinetry should have been.

Henry found himself thinking of whether or not Claire was still alive – at least alive in her current incarnation – and if she was, what horrors had been inflicted upon her in the interim. Henry had experienced what happened to an immortal when their secret had been found out by the wrong person. He knew the suffering that a person was able to endure. He hoped against hope that Claire was not finding that out, although as more time passed without a phone call from Abe, the more that seemed unlikely.

Henry was surprised how quickly they managed to get to their destination. He got out of the car and watched as his colleagues put on bullet proof vests and unholstered their guns, as their uniformed colleagues got into their raid gear.

"Henry, stay here," Jo said, pointing at the car.

"Jo…"

"I'm being serious," she said. "Badges only. I don't want you anywhere near this when it goes down. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Okay," he agreed.

Henry went and sat in the car dutifully, as the police prepared to storm the building.

"NYPD! Come out with your hands up!"

There was a loud crack as the door was knocked down, and the police stormed the building. It was only a few minutes later, when they emerged from the building, to the shouts of, "Clear!"

Henry got out of the car and looked at Jo.

She shook her head.

"She's not here," she said.

Luke swore, and kicked a can down the street.

"Now where do we look?" Hanson asked.

They were all thinking the same thing.

Jo watched as Henry started walking off down the street.

"Henry!" she called. "Where are you going?"

"Jo – look," he said.

He was standing next to a 2010 silver Ford Focus. And there was a dent in a side panel.

"He's here," he said. "He's got to be. He must be in one of the adjacent buildings."

Jo looked around. There must have been six or eight empty warehouses on this street.

"We'll split up," Luke said. "Go through them one by one and come back. If anyone finds where they're hiding, we'll regroup and raid the building."

"Good idea," Hanson said.

It was the work of a couple minutes to decide who was going where. Jo was assigned a brick warehouse at the end of the street. She was surprised when Henry followed her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm coming with you," he insisted.

"No, Henry," she said. "Badges only, remember?"

"I'm not letting you go on your own," he said.

"I can't have you getting hurt," she said.

"And you think I can allow that of you?" he pointed out. "Jo, Claire might be in there. You must understand that we need to find her. And going into the building with an armed murderer on your own is not going to be very useful if you get yourself killed."

"Fine," she said. "You can cover me."

She knelt down and received her spare gun from her ankle holster and handed it to Henry. She watched as he fiddled with it.

"Do you even know how to use one of those things?" she asked.

Henry looked at her.

"You'd be surprised at what I've learnt over the years, Jo," he replied.

"Fine," she said. "Are you ready?"

Henry nodded.

"Remember, you're just following me," she said. "No running off on your own."

"I promise," he said.

Henry followed Jo into the building.

It wasn't as dark as Henry was expecting, when they entered the building. There was the faint hum of a fluorescent light in the background. Jo and Henry looked at each other knowingly, but didn't say a word. Jo just clicked the safety off her gun, and Henry followed suit. She lifted her arms into the Weaver stance.

Suddenly, there was a shriek.

Jo and Henry made their way down the corridor towards the noise.

"This is Detective Martinez, we need back up," she called down the radio. "We need back up – now!"

They entered the garage at the back of the building, and found them. Claire was tied to a table, screaming. She was barely recognisable, as huge chunks of her flesh had been filleted away with a knife. She was covered from head to foot with blood, which continued to ooze sluggishly from her wounds.

The man who had done this to her turned to face Jo and Henry. His skin was sallow, and he still held his pocket knife in his hand.

"NYPD. Put the weapon down," Jo warned, her gun pointed at him.

He smiled at her. That son-of-a-bitch smiled at her.

"What are you going to do, Detective?" he asked. "Kill me? My body's doing that for me, anyway."

"Put the weapon down," she repeated, taking a step forward.

He rushed around the table and pressed the knife to her throat.

"You take a step further forward, and I'll kill her," he said.

"Do it," Claire groaned. "Kill me."

Henry's stomach twisted.

"It's over, Robert," Jo said. "It doesn't matter what you do. You're not getting out of here. It will be worse for you if you kill her. Put the weapon down."

"It won't make a damned difference," he spat. "I'm dying anyway. A quick death might be a better option for the both of us."

He lifted the knife, as though to drive it into Claire's chest.

One shot. Two shot. And he was down.

As soon as it was clear, Henry rushed to Claire's side and began untying her restraints.

"Kill me," she moaned to him. "Please, Henry. Kill me."

Jo went and checked on Robert Underwood. He was dead.

"I can't," he said. "I promise, we will get you help, Claire."

She shook her head.

"Look at me, Henry," she said. "There's no coming back from this. Please. Just make the pain end."

Henry looked back at Jo, who was organising for an ambulance to come. He couldn't kill Claire and speed her reawakening. Not with Jo here. But was their secret more important than Claire's pain? It was obvious from looking at her that if she survived this (which was questionable) she would remain horribly scarred. If she died later and awoke scar-free, people would wonder why. Whether or not he killed her now, or she took her own life later, her secret would be revealed. The only difference would be the amount of pain she had to go through first.

"Okay," Henry said, running a hand through her hair. "It's okay, Claire. I'll make it end."

Henry walked over to the corpse of Robert Underwood, and picked up the knife.

"Henry, what are you doing?" Jo asked.

He looked at her, wondering just how he could explain what he was going to do. The pitiful cries of Claire and the sound of approaching sirens made him focus. If he was going to do this, he was going to have to do this now.

"I'm sorry," was all he said.

"Henry… No!"

He brought the knife to Claire's throat and slit it. There was a bright spray of blood, and then she disappeared.

Jo was stunned.

Henry had just killed Claire Gage – a woman he supposedly cared about – right in front of her and without warning. And she had just disappeared.

How could someone just disappear?

"What the Hell," she said, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

"Jo, I have no time to explain," he said, walking towards her.

She lifted the gun towards him.

"Stay where you are, Henry," she warned.

"Jo – I know this is hard to believe, but Claire is fine," he said.

"You just killed her," she said.

"Yes, I did," he said. "But she's not dead now. Look, I don't have time to explain. I promise you, I will in due time. But please just believe me now when I say that she is fine."

There were noises off in the distance.

"…What do I tell them?" she asked.

"Say that you found Mr Underwood cleaning up the crime scene," he said. "He ran at us with the knife, so you shot him."

Jo looked over at the table that was still smeared with Claire's blood. It was a believable story.

It sounded more believable than the reality of the situation.

Jo just nodded numbly. What else was she meant to do? Would she really accuse Henry of murder and say the body had simply disappeared? No one would believe her. She didn't entirely believe it herself.

She would defer judgement until later. Until she and Henry had a chance to talk.

Just then, Luke and Hanson entered, surrounded by uniforms with their guns drawn.

"What happened?" Hanson asked, looking at Underwood's body.

"It's over," Jo said.

"Where's Claire Gage?" Luke asked.

"Not here," Henry said. "We were too late. We found Underwood cleaning up blood when we arrived – probably Claire's. When he saw us, he ran at us with the knife. Detective Martinez shot. She called for an ambulance, but he's already dead."

Jo just looked at Henry. She was stunned with the conviction of how he said it. How could he be such a good liar? How many times had he lied to her in the past?

Henry just looked at her, there silent conversation telling her everything she needed to know. That Henry Morgan always lied, but that he couldn't from now on.

"Are you okay?" Hanson asked, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder.

She looked at him numbly, unsure as to what to say.

"Just get me out of here, Mike," she said.


	21. Chapter 21

Jo and Henry remained silent while Mike drove them over to Abe's Antiques. Mike was putting it down to the trauma they went through killing Robert Underwood, but their silence was for completely different reasons.

Jo had seen Henry kill Claire Gage. She had seen it. And yet she found herself questioning whether or not it actually happened, given that Claire had disappeared moments later. People did not disappear, so how could she have seen that happen? And if she did see that happen, then that would make Henry a murderer – a murderer that she was now sitting next to in the back of a police cruiser, not in handcuffs.

When the reinforcements had entered the garage where she had shot Robert Underwood, she had made the split second decision to give Henry the benefit of the doubt, and wait for him to explain everything in private. He had promised her that Claire was fine – but how could that be true?

She shook her head. None of what happened today felt real. God, she wished it all wasn't real.

Henry had watched Jo the entire car trip home. He could see the internal struggle she was going through play out across her face. He found himself questioning if he did the right thing, revealing Claire's secret like he had. But when he remembered the look of pain on Claire's face, while she begged him to help her die, he couldn't regret it. Henry had been tortured before. He knew that death was sometimes the only mercy one could give.

Mike pulled over outside of Abe's Antiques, and looked into the backseat, where Henry and Jo sat.

"You guys gonna be okay?" he asked.

They nodded.

"Thank you, but we'll be fine," Henry said. "We just need some time to process everything. We'll see you later, Detective Hanson."

Henry and Jo got out of the car and walked into the shop. The front door was unlocked, but the shop itself was empty.

"Abe," Henry called.

"Up here," he said, his voice coming from upstairs.

Jo and Henry walked upstairs and entered their apartment. Abe sat on the couch, his arm around a woman's shoulders.

It was Claire Gage.

There she sat – dressed once again in Henry's pyjamas. If it weren't for the redness of her eyes, or the tears staining her cheeks, and the dampness of her hair, Jo would have been convinced she'd been transported back to that morning she had first found her in Henry's apartment.

Jo turned to face Henry, who looked at her with worried eyes.

How could any of this be true?

"Excuse me, Jo," he said.

He walked over to where Claire sat, being comforted by Abe. He knelt down, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Jo couldn't exactly hear what he said to her, but she saw when Claire flung her arms out to wrap around Henry and began to cry into his shoulder.

"He's dead," she wept. "He's dead."

"I know," Henry said, placing a hand on the back of Claire's head as he held her. "I'm sorry."

_So not Robert Underwood, then_, Jo couldn't help but think. _David Harper_.

"…And I never got to… I never said…"

"I know," Henry said, shushing to her gently and rocking her backwards and forwards. "But trust me Claire, he knew. He knew."

She shook her head.

"You don't know that," she said.

"It's an educated guess," he said. "And you know how good I am at those. Remember, this was a man that tracked a serial killer down for you."

"But I never asked him to," she said. "If he hadn't, maybe he would still be alive."

"He may, or he may not," Henry said. "There's no point second guessing the past, Claire. We just have to live with the present."

She shook her head.

"I wish I was dead, too," she moaned.

"I don't," he said. "I am very much glad you're still alive, Claire."

She lifted her head to look at him. He gave her a comforting smile, and brushed a tear away from her cheek.

"Very much so," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there is some business I have to attend to, now that we know that you are safe and sound."

They both turned to look at Jo. She felt strangely exposed when they did that.

Claire nodded, and released Henry from her grasp, and went to sit with Abe on the couch. Henry walked over to Jo.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation down to my study," he suggested. "I am presuming you have a lot of questions for me."

Jo followed Henry down to his study, and they took a seat in his pair of armchairs. This whole scene felt just so surreal. Jo still wasn't entirely sure she wasn't imagining the whole thing.

"Claire Gage isn't dead," Jo started.

She had never been one for waiting.

"No," Henry replied. "I did tell you she wouldn't be."

"How?" she asked.

He sighed.

"Claire is not like other people," he explained. "She is… unable to die – in so much that when she does die, she does not remain dead."

"What do you mean, she doesn't remain dead?" Jo asked.

It seemed to Jo if she ran this conversation like an interrogation, she might actually get through it. Responding to what someone said came naturally to her, after so many years in the interrogation room. Even if what they were saying made no possible logical sense.

"When Claire dies, her physical form disappears and reappears in water," Henry said. "When she returns, she is unharmed, in spite of what injuries were inflicted upon her."

Jo remembered seeing Claire upstairs. There was not a single scratch on her.

"And you knew," Jo said. "You knew this before you killed her today."

"Yes."

"How?"

"It was an educated guess," he replied.

She hated it when he said things like that. Vague things that only barely covered what she was asking. She was beginning to realise that this annoying habit of Henry's may have actually been deliberate all this time.

"How is someone being unable to die an educated guess?" she demanded. "What? It's not like this happens to everyone."

"I guessed the reality of Claire's condition after hearing about how she was found after her original abduction from Detective Hanson," he explained. "Claire and I later tested the hypothesis, and it was proven true."

"But how did you even come to consider such a possibility?" Jo asked. "You don't just go around presuming people can't die."

"Because I've seen a similar case before," he said.

"Who?" she demanded.

He sighed and steepled his hands in front of his mouth, as he contemplated the enormity of what he was about to tell her.

"Me," he said.

"You can't be serious," she said.

"Sadly, yes, I am, Jo," Henry said. "I am unable to die."

"That's impossible," she said.

"It does not make it any less true," Henry said, recycling what he had previously said to Claire. "Think about it. When an immortal dies, they wake up in water. I suspected Claire was one after she was found in the East River. What are the charges on my record, Jo?"

"Public indecency," she replied. "You were…"

"Found naked in the East River," he said. "On multiple occasions."

"You died?" she asked, astounded.

"Each and every time," he said.

"But you've been found doing that…"

"By the police? Six times," he said. "Including on the day I met you."

Jo thought back to when she and Henry met – when there had been the subway crash. Jo had seen him on CCTV walking on to the front carriage of the train. She had found his watch, splattered with blood, in the cabin. He hadn't been injured at all, and had been unwilling to volunteer he had been on the train, until she had questioned him.

"How many times have you died, Henry?" Jo asked.

Her voice sounded detached, and vaguely frightened.

"More times than I care to remember," he admitted.

"So on that train…"

"Yes. I died. Impaled by a hand rail."

"And when I thought I saw you fall off that building…"

"You did. And I died."

"What happened when we found you in the river?" she asked.

"I was in the taxi when it sank," he said.

"…You didn't drop your watch," she said.

"Well, I did. Just not when you found it," he replied.

Jo went silent, contemplating what he was telling her.

"Jo, you must believe me when I tell you that I have loathed keeping this a secret from you," he said. "There have been so many times that I have wanted to tell you. So many times that I was going to. But how do you tell someone you cannot die? Would you have believed me if I told you?"

She looked at him.

"Do I even know who you are, Henry?" she asked. "How am I meant to believe anything you've ever told me?"

"Jo, please," Henry said. "I have never deliberately lied to you. I promise. This is the only secret I've ever kept from you."

"I wish I could believe that," she said, standing.

"Jo – where are you going," Henry said, following suit.

She shook her head.

"I just can't look at you right now," she said.

"Jo – please – wait…"

Jo walked up the stairs and left, leaving Henry alone in his study.

He had never felt so alone in his life.


	22. Chapter 22

Henry sat by himself for a while, considering the enormity of everything that had happened that day.

Claire's abduction and rescue.

The resolution of the river strangling case.

Jo discovering the existence of immortals, and Henry telling her he was one.

Jo leaving his house in disgust.

_We will have to leave again_, Henry thought. _Abe, Claire and I. We will have to move somewhere and start again._

Just thinking about that possibility gave Henry a sour taste in his mouth. He very much did not want to leave New York, and it wasn't just due to his reticence at building yet another new existence in yet another new location. Henry was an expert at developing new identities, and he had never baulked at the need to before now. It was just that he didn't want this particular identity to end yet. Especially if that meant leaving certain people behind.

Henry always knew that telling Jo his secret would never be an easy thing. Henry had told other people his secret before, and invariably – with the exception of Abigail – they had all turned out badly. Insane asylums, attempted assassinations, dissections, hangings, torture… he'd experienced them all. He had learnt that normal people did not cope well when being confronted with the impossible. In his experience, it was better that they never found out. It was the only reason that in spite of the guilt he had felt keeping such a large secret from Jo that he had never told her up til now.

He wondered what Jo was going to do with that information, now that she was aware of it. For some reason, Henry wasn't worried about Jo telling anyone else his secret. And that wasn't just because no one else would believe her. Jo had always been an eminently trustworthy person, and Henry didn't think she would betray his trust now. He did worry that Jo would never forgive him for keeping this secret, though. The thought of her hating him forever was more than he could bear.

Henry had grown tired of the silence, and made his way upstairs. He was surprised to find the lights out in the living area. He looked at the clock, and was surprised to find how late it was. Abe and Claire must have gone to bed.

Henry looked down at his clothes, still stained by Claire's blood. He needed to get changed, but all his clothes were in his room. The thought of spending a night on the couch clothed in a bloody suit after the day he had was almost too much to bear. He decided to sneak into his room to gather a change of clothes.

Henry was careful to be quiet, as he opened the door to his room. He had thought he was relatively silent, but Claire still lifted her head when he entered the room.

"I'm sorry," Henry said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," she said, pulling herself into a seated position. "I couldn't sleep."

Henry came and sat on the bed next to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Henry reached out to stroke Claire's head, in an attempt to be comforting. She shut her eyes as she tried to prevent herself from crying again.

"I don't think it's possible to be okay right now," she eventually said.

"No," Henry said. "I guess it's not. I am sorry about David, Claire."

She nodded numbly.

"I loved him, you know?" she said. "I tried so hard not to, but I think I did. I wasted so much time telling myself that I didn't need him, and now he's gone…"

The tears that Claire had been trying to avoid started to escape down her cheeks. Henry did the only thing he could think of and pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

"I'm sure he knew," he comforted, as she cried into his shoulder.

"But I wasted so much time," she said. "The last days of his life. I wasted them telling him I didn't want him because it was too complicated."

"You weren't to know, Claire," he said. "You did what you thought was right at the time. You can't blame yourself for that."

"I just… I just…" she cried, "I just wish that I told him I loved him. I just want one more chance to tell him that."

"I know, Claire. I know."

Henry and Claire just sat there for a while, holding each other as they waited for Claire's tears to abate. Eventually, Claire pulled herself upright, and rubbed the tears from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Never apologise for crying, Claire," Henry said. "It's one of the few things we have to remind us that we're still human."

"Thank you," she said. "And not just for listening to me cry. Thank you for killing me today. I know it put you in a difficult position with Detective Martinez. I didn't mean to do that. I just needed the pain to end."

"It's fine," he said. "It may not have been the most ideal way for Jo to find out my secret, but your need at the time was greater than my need to protect myself. I would never have been able to sit by when you were in such pain."

"It's no worse than I'm in at the moment," Claire joked. "I just wished you could take this pain away."

"If I could, I would," Henry promised. "Claire, you and I are in this world together. I promise you, from here until we discover the cure to this curse, I will be whatever you need me to be. It does not matter if it's one year or a thousand – I will be here for you."

Claire wrapped her arms around Henry's neck once more and held him tight.

"Thank you, Henry," she said. "I'll try to be the same for you."

Claire pulled back to look at Henry, and smiled. In that moment, something shifted between them. What had been two people comforting one and other had turned into something else entirely. It could have been the culmination of the stresses of the day, or that they saw a kindred spirit in the other – the only person who knew the true pain of their existences – but some heat had condensed itself into that moment and demanded to be released.

They would never be able to decide who leaned in to kiss whom. It didn't really matter. After everything they had been through, they both needed the release they found in each other's arms. They both needed the simplicity of that moment – just a man and a woman, getting lost in the other. The troubles of the world being set aside for one night.

And maybe it was right, this intimacy they found in the other. No one would ever understand them like they did the other. The pain. The loneliness. The fear at what the future held. Maybe, just maybe, they could walk this path together. Maybe they didn't have to go through this world alone.

Claire pulled Henry on top of her, and the weight of his body on hers was comforting. He felt so real, and no one would ever be able to take him away from her. He kissed her, and could taste the salt of her tears. He would be the one to kiss away her pain. And she would do the same for him tonight.

Tonight, there was no David – gone forever far too young. There was no Jo – disgusted at Henry's own existence. Tonight, there was just Claire and Henry. And even if it was only for tonight, the rest of the world could wait.

**Author's Note:**

_Oh dear... Claire and Henry hooked up. I promised myself that I wouldn't fall that trap when I started writing this, but I promise, if you stick with this story, you won't be disappointed. Everything will be fixed by the end (one to two chapters away)!_

_Thanks for sticking with me up til now! I promise it will all be over soon**.**_


	23. Chapter 23

Jo poured herself another glass of whiskey. She didn't know what she expected from it. The last two hadn't made the day make any more sense. She doubted this one would do anything except maybe help her to forget the day happened at all.

The day had been a busy one. She had a murder, an abduction, a make-shift reunion with Henry, a police raid and she had shot dead her murder suspect for threatening Claire Gage's life, only for Henry to go over and kill her himself.

But that was okay, because it turns out that Claire is immortal.

As is Henry.

Shit, for all she knew, the President could be, too.

Jo took another slug of whiskey.

Out of everything that happened today, that was the one that Jo kept coming back to – that Claire and Henry were immortal. Not that she had killed a man today. Not that she had put an end to a serial killer plaguing New York. That Claire Gage and Henry Morgan were f***ing immortal.

'How' and 'why' were definitely questions that Jo found herself asking, but the one that she was most concerned about was 'how was this fair?' And it was that question that was making Jo so angry with the world.

Death was meant to be some inescapable, indiscriminatory thing. It didn't matter if you were a saint or a sinner, a king or a beggar – death was meant to come for us all. It was something we weren't meant to have control over. It didn't matter if you had something to live for; death could take you anyway. And it did. Over and over again, people died who didn't deserve it. Sean died, and he didn't deserve it. It was the only comfort Jo had found, was knowing that his death was inevitable. That nothing she could have done would have prevented it.

And yet, Claire and Henry could escape it.

Fear of death was protective. Self-preservation prevents you from doing stupid things that could get yourself hurt or killed. But what would you do if you didn't have to worry about the consequences? Jo couldn't help but think of Henry, and how he put himself in danger over and over and over again. Standing in front of cars, yanking suspects from in front of trains, volunteering to be shot by criminals… How many times had Jo had to step in to save a life he seemed Hell-bent on not protecting? It wasn't so surprising now, given that he had no need to. He could just go poof and wake up in the river - unharmed and in his birthday suit - and go about his day.

And Sean couldn't.

Jo poured herself another glass of whiskey.

Henry had died. Henry had died before she even met him. Jo felt her stomach twist. If Henry hadn't been immortal, then he would never have had the opportunity to come into her life. She couldn't even imagine what kind of life that would be like.

When Jo had met Henry, she was not in a good place. Sean's death was just so fresh, and she hadn't coped with it well. She had thrown all her focus into work, and all her free-time (at least, what remained of it) she spent trying to find oblivion. She had started drinking heavily, and had gone bed-hopping with strange men she'd found in bars who reminded her vaguely of Sean, just so she could pretend for the night that he was still around. Her life had gone from trying to succeed to trying to survive, and each day was a trial she was never entirely sure she would get through. She hadn't been sure that she wanted to.

But then she had met Henry. Infuriating, brilliant Henry.

He had challenged her in a way that had been lacking since Sean's death. She had found that people treated her like a porcelain doll since he had died, and tried to avoid talking about him. Henry had come straight out and addressed the elephant in the room.

_"__I'm sorry for your loss, Detective."_

_"__Sorry, I think you're confused. I didn't know any of the victims."_

_"__No, I meant your husband."_

He hadn't skirted the issue. He didn't pretend Sean never existed. He acknowledged her loss, and got on with it. It had been one of the things that got her heckles up when she first met him, but at the same time, it had woken her up. Henry listing the physical changes that she had gone through since Sean had died made them real. She found that she needed to face her loss and work through it. And working with Henry gave her a new purpose. She may have no longer have been a wife, but she still was a Detective. Henry helped her to discover that life went on.

In his case, indefinitely.

Jo wouldn't be who she was today without Henry. Could she really wish that he wasn't immortal, just because Sean wasn't? That would effectively be wishing he was dead – which she didn't. As angry as she was, she still needed Henry Morgan in her life. She couldn't imagine going back to a world without him in it. She didn't want to.

It was just a shame that this all felt like some huge cosmic joke played just against her. _Oh, we'll take your husband at a tragically young and unexpected age, but we'll give you an immortal ME as recompense._

Very funny, universe. Very funny.

But what was she going to do now that she knew that Henry was immortal? That Claire Gage was immortal, too.

In that moment, Jo felt irrationally jealous of Claire. Not because she could live forever, because Jo didn't want that. She was just jealous that she shared something with Henry in a way that she never could. That in some way, that instantly gave them a bond deeper than Jo and Henry could ever share.

But was that true?

Jo thought back on the times she spent with Henry. All the time they had spent together, solving crimes. The long conversations they had about life, the universe and everything. The shared experience of losing the ones they loved far before either of them were ready.

Jo and Henry were already kindred spirits. There was something inside both of them that resonated with the other, and that would never change. They didn't need some supernatural affliction to confirm that.

Jo pushed her unfinished whiskey away. She didn't need it anymore.

People are just a sum of their life experiences. And Henry's had made him into who he was today – a man that was both wonderful and infuriating at the same time. She wouldn't judge him for something he had no control over. He was no different today than he was yesterday. All that happened was another piece of the puzzle that was Henry Morgan was revealed.

And what a magical thing that was.


	24. Chapter 24

Henry had always been an early riser, and that morning it was no different.

Henry woke as he always did – at quarter to seven on the dot. Henry found he never needed an alarm clock. Two hundred years of waking up at this time was more than enough practice to ensure it.

But this morning, there was something different. There was someone in his bed. In _his_ bed. Henry had hardly been celibate in the interceding decades since Abigail left – he was a man, after-all. He had needs – but he had never shared _his_ bed with anyone apart from his wife.

Henry opened his eyes to stare into a nest of brown hair. His arm was wrapped around Claire, his naked body pressed against hers. The events of the past twenty-four hours crept into his mind, his stomach sinking as it acknowledged that reality.

Henry carefully pried his arm from Claire's form and got out of bed. He was surprised she didn't wake. He grabbed the closest pair of underwear he could find, and a shirt, and pulled them on before making his escape.

What the Hell had he done?

Now that he had gained some distance, he found himself fretting over this quandary. He and Claire had spent the night together. Claire – who had just lost the man she loved. Claire – another immortal like him. Not just another woman he could outlive, but an important and vital part of his future existence. What was meant to be a mentoring relationship – even friendship – had just become a whole lot more complicated.

How had this happened? Why had this happened? How had this gross overstep in boundaries occurred?

Henry had to admit that Claire was striking. Her piercing blue eyes set in a heart-shaped alabaster face, it would take a blind man to think she was not attractive. And she was smart, and funny, and in spite of her recent traumas, remained relatively stoic. Those were all qualities that Henry found endearing. But was that really enough to engage in behaviours such as this?

Henry had only ever had one-night-stands since Abigail left. Random simulacra he could use to fill that gap when the pain got too much, left behind the following day. Claire was far too important to him to have been considered such a role.

But did he regret it happening?

He thought back to the evening before. The hopelessness he had felt after Jo had left. Claire weeping in his arms as she grieved for David. The way she had felt when he had taken her in his arms. Their bodies meeting in perfect synchronicity, taken up by the rhythm of their shared selves until that blessed burst of sweet ecstasy. It was a panacea for all their woes that day.

And it was incredible.

"What are you doing?"

Henry was brought back to the now suddenly. He turned around to find Abraham, standing there with the morning paper under his arm.

"Ah… Abe," he said. "I was just heading down to have my morning shower."

"No, you weren't," he said. "You always have your shower after your first cup of coffee. And why aren't you wearing any pants?"

Henry looked down at his bare legs.

"Ah…"

Abraham looked back towards the lounge, where the couch lay in pristine condition and un-slept on.

"Where did you sleep last night?" he asked. "…Oh! Oh!"

Henry watched as his son's face morphed into one of shock.

"Are you having a walk of shame?" he asked, sounding mildly disgusted.

"…A what?" Henry asked.

"A walk of shame," he repeated. "It's what the kids call it when you sneak out of the house after doing the nasty with someone and walk home the next morning in yesterday's clothes."

"Abraham," Henry scolded.

"But you are!" he said. "You and Claire… You…"

Abraham looked at Henry, back down towards his room, and then back at his father.

"Okay, yes," Henry admitted. "Yes. If you must know, Claire and I may have crossed some… boundaries last night."

"Boundaries? What kind of euphemism is that?"

"That's enough, Abraham!" Henry said. "Now, I think Claire deserves more respect than being talked about in hallways, don't you think."

"You're right. We can talk about it after you have a shower and get dressed," he said. "You look ridiculous right now."

As embarrassing as it was, Henry found himself dressed in some of his son's clothes and seated at their dining table that morning. Claire was still asleep in his bedroom. After the day she had yesterday, Henry was not going to begrudge her the sleep. Besides, it gave him a chance to try and work out what to do next. Not that Abraham would be quiet long enough to allow Henry to think.

Henry was still trying to work out just when things became so complicated with Claire. Moments like last night did not just happen. Not to Henry. He had always been such a thoughtful and deliberate man, that he couldn't see how he could have just got caught up in the moment like that.

The truth was that he cared for Claire. He acknowledged that fact. Ever since he had discovered her immortality, he had felt protective over her. Like he was her guide to this frightening new world she had entered. A father-figure, if you will. But even beyond that bond that they shared, Henry had to admit that there had been something else developing. There was an attachment forming that he hadn't noticed til last night – and that attachment was not father-like in the least!

But Henry was not ready for that kind of attachment.

When Abigail had left, it had damaged Henry in a way that would never truly heal. She was his soul mate. Even after over two decades apart, he still felt like that. No one would be able to fill that gap - ever. He had been unwilling to even let anyone try. Molly had been the last person to, and he had run from her as soon as he realised that his feelings for her could be more than superficial.

And then there was Jo. He had shared things with Jo that were far more intimate than physical contact would ever be. To define the bond they shared as merely friendship would have been insulting. She was so much more. What that was, Henry still didn't understand.

"Yo – Pops," Abe said, snapping his fingers in front of Henry. "You listening to me?"

"…Sorry?" Henry said, trying to focus.

"I was asking if you'd like some more toast," he said, waving the toast rack at his father. "Jeez… Pay attention, will ya?"

"I'd like some toast."

"…Claire."

Henry stood on Claire's approach – a gentleman as always. She smiled sheepishly at him and Abe as she took a seat. She had dressed herself in Henry's clothes again. It wasn't like she had much of a choice. Her own clothes had disappeared after her death, and it wasn't like she had her own _In Case of Emergency Death_ bag yet.

"…I think I might go and open the shop," Abe said, standing.

Henry glared at him. It was a poor excuse to escape.

"Don't leave on my behalf," Claire said.

"No, no," Abe said. "It's not that. I mean, I do have to go open the shop."

He looked at Henry, and back at Claire. Henry wondered at how Abe had never learnt any finesse.

"Bye."

Claire watched as Abe made his not-so-subtle exit, before turning to face Henry.

"Hi," she said.

"Good morning," he replied.

"I take it he knows?" she asked.

Henry nodded.

"He did kind of figure things out," he admitted. "He caught me doing my walk of shame to the bathroom this morning."

"Walk of shame? Is that what we're calling it?"

"What? No!" Henry insisted, realising he may have made a faux pas. "It was just the term that Abe used when he found me sneaking down the corridor in my underwear this morning."

Claire laughed at the mental image.

"The language kids these days use, huh?" she teased.

He wasn't sure whether to smile or not.

"Look, Claire, I'm sorry for sneaking out this morning," he said. "I just thought you could do with the sleep in, given everything that happened."

"It's fine, Henry," she said. "I've already kind of worked out that you regret what happened last night."

"No…"

"You don't have to lie to me," she said. "I'm a big girl. I can take it. Yesterday was a very stressful day, and we were both in a vulnerable situation…"

"No, Claire. Don't say that," Henry said. He reached out to take her hand. "Claire, I do not regret what happened last night. Not at all. It just was not an ideal time for it to happen. You have to understand, Claire, that I have not been with anyone since Abe's mother left. At least not anyone I cared about."

He rubbed the back of the hand he held with his thumb.

"How long ago did she leave?" she asked.

"Over two decades ago," he replied, "but the pain is still as fresh as though it was yesterday. I have avoided significant relationships ever since. I couldn't bear to go through that kind of pain again."

"What about Jo?" Claire asked.

Henry just stared at her for a moment.

"Jo and I are complicated," he finally said.

"You're in love with her," she said.

"No… I…"

"Henry, you don't need to deny it," she said. "Love is a wonderful thing. Whether or not it's a romantic love or not, you obviously have feelings for her."

She sighed, and stared at their joined hands.

"If I've learned anything in the past few days, it's that mortal life is so fleeting," she said, looking up at him. "You can't take that for granted. Not even for an instant, because you never know when it ends."

"But what about you, Claire?" he asked. "I know it is not ideal, but I do care for you, too. I do not want to hurt you."

"Henry, I'm already hurting," she said. "David died yesterday. He died."

She shut her eyes for a moment, and sighed, acknowledging the pain before opening them again.

"I wasted the time that I had with him, and now he's gone. I can never get that time back," she explained. "It's going to take a while to recover from. You and I have literally forever to figure things out between us. You and Jo do not have that luxury."

She shook her head.

"Don't waste that time with her, Henry," she said. "Not over me."

Henry sighed.

"It's just not that easy allowing myself to open up again," he said.

"I'm sure you and Jo can learn together," she said, giving his hand one last squeeze before withdrawing it.

"What will you do now?" Henry asked.

"I guess I'll be like you, Henry – move on and start again," she said. "Surely there's enough evidence for me to be declared dead, and given the amount of times you've started anew, I'm pretty sure you can be of some help with setting up a new identity for me. I'll get on with life until one day, I wake up and find it's normal again. Not the normal I remember, but a new normal."

Henry smiled, remembering the conversation he and Claire had on the floor of his bathroom, the night she had confirmed her immortality.

"I'm sure I can help with that," he agreed. "How can you be so wise, Claire? You're only twenty-eight years old."

"You should know by now that wisdom comes with experience, not age, Henry," she teased, standing. "Now stop wasting time and go deal with things with Jo."

Henry stood to meet her.

He wrapped his arms around Claire and hugged her tight. She squeezed him back just as tightly. It was a bitter-sweet moment for both of them. A goodbye, of sorts, but also a blessing. Henry pulled away and looked at Claire for a moment, before leaning down to chastely press his lips to her.

"Thank you, Claire," he said.

"Just don't you forget me," she said. "Remember, we have an eternity to share together."

"Never," he promised. "We will meet again, Claire. Someday it will be our time."

"Then hurry up and get moving, so it arrives sooner," she said. "Don't waste my altruism, Henry. It happens so infrequently."

Henry smiled.

"Goodbye, Claire," he said. "I'll see you when I get back."

Henry left then, bounding towards the stairs and out onto the street beyond. Claire walked over to the window and watched him disappear down the street. She wrapped her arms around herself and shut her eyes, as hot tears started to roll down her cheeks.

Shakespeare had said it best – parting was such sweet sorrow. But at least she knew that this one particular goodbye was not to be forever. Forever would a path that they would someday walk together.

**Author's Note:**

Oh, God - relationships! Feelings! All those things I tried to avoid in this fic, but managed to sneak in so close to the end!

So I know I said two chapters ago that there would be only two more chapters, but guess what? There's still one to go. Just one - I promise. Besides, twenty-five is a nicer number than twenty-four. Consider it an aesthetic choice.

Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it so far. I know fan fiction with original characters in it are a bit dangerous. They all too often fall in to wish fulfilment for the author, but I hope you've realised I haven't done that. Claire's life is way too horrible for me to want that! But thanks for the belief for actually starting it, even more so for keeping on reading it. It means a lot to me.

Anyway, I'm off to write the *last* chapter! Wish me luck!


	25. Chapter 25

Henry hopped out of the cab and onto the streets of Washington Heights. Jo's building was in front of him. It looked exactly the same as it had the last time he was there, when he and Jo sat on the stairs, holding each other as the snow fell. How long had he sat there, comforting Jo while she cried? He had felt so close to her that night. He knew in that moment exactly what she felt; exactly what she was thinking. He had experienced those same feelings himself.

Henry walked up the stairs to the red door, and stopped.

What happened if Jo wasn't home?

What happened if she was?

Henry had not thought this through entirely, before coming here. He had been consumed by the need to beg Jo for forgiveness, without thinking through how he would actually do that.

What would happen if she refused to talk to him?

What would he do if she did not forgive him?

"…Henry?"

Henry stopped his pacing, and looked up to where Jo stood, now outside her door. She was wearing a t-shirt, jeans and baseball cap, a gym bag slung over her shoulder. It was obvious she wasn't expecting him.

"Jo," he said. "I'm sorry – you're heading out. I'll just go…"

"No, it's fine," she said. "It can wait. What are you doing here?"

She didn't sound angry – not to Henry's ears, at least – more just curious.

"I… Well…"

As amazing as it was, for once, Henry was lost for words. He reached up to nervously rub the back of his neck.

There were just so many things that Henry wanted to say to Jo, and yet he struggled to find the words for any of them. It was just so important that he got this moment right. He remembered all too well Jo's face yesterday after she discovered his secret. The confusion. The surprise. The betrayal, and even the disgust. He remembered how he felt when she had walked out on him. It was like she had torn his heart in two. He could not risk getting this wrong, and losing her forever.

Jo could see the play of emotions on Henry's face. He watched her as her brow furrowed.

"Henry…"

"No," Henry said. "Please, Jo. Just let me speak."

He sighed.

"Jo, I am so sorry," he said. "I am so sorry about everything. About keeping my secret from you for so long. For how you found out. For not trying to explain myself better when the truth came out.

"You have to understand, I did not keep this from you to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you. Nor did I keep it from you because I did not trust you. Jo, I trust you more than just about anyone else I know – except for Abe," he conceded.

"It's just that when you are like me - when you have the condition that I have – you learn very quickly to protect this secret. People will hurt you and punish you for it. They will kill you for it – over and over again, if need be. The need for self-preservation is so high that it prevents you from letting those closest to you know who you really are, and it kills you.

"When I first met you, I had no idea how important you would become to me. You were just another person to hide my secret from. But you have become so much more than that," he insisted.

"There have been so many times that I have wanted to tell you. So many times I have tried. I've felt the weight of this secret between us, and some days it kills me to keep it from you. But I felt that by not telling you, that I was somehow protecting you. Keeping a secret from the people you love is a heavy burden for anyone to carry. I did not want to do that to you."

He sighed.

"I think – deep down – I wanted you to find out. I think that's why I allowed yesterday to happen the way it did. Yes, Claire was in pain and I wanted to alleviate that, but I could have found some other way to go about it. I believe that I was so inclined to do what I did because I just needed the lie to be over."

Jo was silent.

"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. I know you have a right to be mad with me. But Jo… I am so sorry. I cannot bear the thought of hurting you, and I will do whatever you need me to, to fix that. You have become one of the most important people in my life. As long as my life is, I cannot live it without you. I promise you, Jo, I will never stop striving to earn your forgiveness. I will never give up on you."

"Oh, for God's sake, Henry. Shut up…"

Henry was surprised when Jo threw herself into his arms and kissed him. It took him a moment to register her closeness, but after the passing shock he kissed her back. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, content in that moment.

If living two hundred years had taught Henry anything, it was that life was fleeting. He had learned to fear the ticking of time's hands, each second another step towards yet another inevitable loss. He had forgotten until then that it was the transience of life that made it so worthwhile. The knowledge that life was finite meant that you had to strive to make every second count.

And standing there, with Jo in his arms, Henry knew that he would make every second that she remained with him count from now on.

There is a woman sitting in the departure lounge at the airport, hiding from the world behind thick-rimmed glasses. She doesn't need the glasses, but they are a silent homage to someone she lost. She tries to read a magazine, but is too distracted to do anything other than flick through the pages and look at the pictures.

"_Now boarding American Airlines flight one hundred to London. People seated in rows twenty and above can now make their way for boarding._"

People start to flock around the check-in counter. She doesn't rush. She takes her time pulling out her boarding pass and passport. She runs her fingers over her new passport, still amazed by the quality. She didn't know why she was surprised – Henry got his from the same guy who did his, and that was good enough to get him a job working for the NYPD. The man at customs didn't even blink when he took her departures card and swiped it through his computer.

She walks forwards and takes her place in line. One by one, the people in front of her are let on to the plane. She finally gets to the front of the cue, and the hostess takes her passport and ticket.

"Thank you, Doctor Morgan. I hope you enjoy your flight."

Claire still got a thrill when people called her that. Her new name for a new life. Morgan had seemed the sensible choice for her new last name. After all, Henry was the one who introduced her to this new life. He was also the one who had taken away her old one, given he had signed her death certificate. It seemed a nice gesture, to take his name with her on this journey.

Claire went and sat down in her seat. Man in his forties came and sat down next to her. He had one of those cabbie slouch caps on, which he removed and placed into his carry-on luggage, and tucked that under his chair. He looked at her sideways out of the corner of his eye.

"Hi," Claire said.

"Hi," he replied. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to stare. It's just that you look so familiar."

"People tell me that," Claire lied.

People had never said that before, but after her highly publicised murder, she found that her face was more noticeable now. It was one of the reasons she started to wear the glasses.

"I'm sure that they do," he replied. "I'm sorry. I should introduce myself. I'm Adam."

"Claire," she said.

"What brings you to London, Claire?" Adam asked. "Business or pleasure?"

"Adventure," she said. "You?"

"Business," he said. "I am in the antiques business. It appears there might be an item for me to acquire over in London. I'm heading over to find out."

They fell into a companionable silence, as the hostess started the pre-flight safety demonstration. Claire looked out the window, butterflies in her stomach. It was so close now, this beginning to her new life. She still hadn't worked out what she was going to do in London. She might spend a while seeing the sights, before trying to settle down and find a job. Henry had been generous enough to allow her to stay in the house he kept over there. It wasn't like it would be easy renting, when she had no one to provide a reference for her.

Claire was going to miss her life in New York, just like she would miss her family back home in Canada, but at the same time she was excited at the chance of something new. Even though she was terrified at the prospect of starting over, she at least knew she'd never be truly alone. There would always be a man in New York City, sipping a cup of tea at his old oak desk, a scarf wrapped around his neck, waiting to take her call. Somehow forever didn't seem so frightening a concept, when there was someone else there with you. Even if that someone was a thousand miles and a hundred years away.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

I can't believe it's finally over. Thank you to everyone who's read this. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
